The Spitfire Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  Give way, damn it! Teddy thought. They were approaching the Scottish border and his destination was directly west, into Cumberland. He didn’t have enough petrol to fly further north. The smile slowly vanished.

  The Spit responded to every touch and Bobbie continued to hold her course. She saw that Teddy’s expression had hardened and she sensed anger in his movements. I’m stronger, I’m better than you! A new realization coursed through Bobbie’s veins as Teddy’s plane fell away and she carried on flying north, straight and true.

  ‘Fly safely,’ Cameron said to Mary as she collected her chit.

  ‘I always do,’ she assured him. She’d learned that she was to take a damaged Corsair to Wolverhampton then meet up there with Angela and Jean before all three pilots were driven back to Rixley by Olive.

  Cameron stood two steps below her on the stairs. ‘I know you do,’ he said fondly.

  From the top step of the painted concrete stairs Horace called down to Agnes about her day’s activities. ‘What did you get?’

  ‘A Mosquito, worse luck.’

  ‘Where to?’ Horace barged past Cameron and Mary to join Agnes.

  ‘All the way to Thame,’ she informed him. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Same as you, but in a Maggie.’

  Horace and Agnes began discussing the peculiarities of the two old workhorses as they strode off towards their runway.

  Cameron spoke softly to Mary. ‘I’ll hope to see you later.’ His on-duty manner was on the point of breaking down and it was only the appearance of Hilary at the bottom of the stairs that prevented him from embracing Mary before she left.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said with a bright smile. They both waded minute by minute through the agonies of counting the days leading to Cameron’s departure, each trying to put on a brave face for the other’s benefit.

  ‘Get a move on, Third Officer Holland,’ Hilary said sharply as he mounted the stairs and squeezed past.

  ‘It was my fault.’ Cameron offered his apologies. ‘I held her up.’

  Hilary grunted then disappeared into the ops room while Cameron winked reassuringly at Mary who ran off to find her aircraft, hard on the heels of Jean and Angela. The three pilots exchanged cheerful waves as they climbed into their cockpits then waited for chocks away.

  Before long they were airborne and flying in loose formation towards the Midlands factory – south-west over coalfields and steelworks, over vast, pot-bellied cooling towers that churned out smoke and steam and on towards their shared destination. They landed safely on adjacent runways and were soon surrounded by the usual gang of eager, smiling ground crews to whom they handed over their aircraft.

  ‘Blimey!’ A corporal mechanic examined Mary’s damaged Corsair, putting his finger straight through a hastily patched area in the belly of the fuselage. ‘It’s a wonder you made it here in one piece.’

  Meanwhile, another mechanic quickly examined Angela’s papers. ‘This Hurricane came all the way from a Maintenance Unit in Aberdeen, it says here. It needs a new propeller shaft, by all accounts.’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Angela replied airily as she went to join Mary. ‘I just fly the thing.’

  The girls took off their helmets and unzipped their flying suits as they waited for Jean at the end of the runway.

  ‘Can you see our car?’ Jean greeted them then led the way into the nearby office where they would officially sign off. Like Mary and Angela, she was keen to set off for home as soon as possible.

  ‘No, there’s no sign as yet of the lovely Olive.’ Angela looked out of the window at a scene of high activity. Two planes flew out as a third flew in while Tillies and pickups criss-crossed the airfield. Ground crew clustered around the latest arrivals, ready with chocks and toolkits.

  ‘Your driver telephoned to say she’s been held up,’ a girl behind a desk informed them with thinly disguised satisfaction. These racy women pilots had a tendency to look down their noses at ordinary mortals so she felt it did them no harm to have to twiddle their thumbs once in a while. ‘She said she had no idea how long she’ll be.’

  ‘The canteen’s open,’ a more obliging male clerk informed Mary, Jean and Angela.

  So they signed their papers then made their way to a low, flat-roofed concrete building where tea and food were served. Settled at a table close to a window overlooking the main gate from where they could keep an eye out for Olive, talk soon turned towards affairs of the heart.

  ‘Mary Holland, you’re a sly one.’ Angela adopted her usual teasing tone as she flipped open her brand-new powder compact (courtesy of the ground defence boys at Highcliff) and used the small round mirror to refresh her lipstick.

  Mary rose to the bait. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked with a guarded expression.

  ‘I mean you and Cameron, of course. Oh, come along; don’t try to deny it. It’s as plain as the nose on my face that he follows you around the Grange like a little puppy dog.’

  ‘Tell her to mind her own bloody business,’ Jean told Mary with unusual animation as she aimed a kick at Angela’s shins.

  ‘Mind your own bloody business,’ Mary said with an embarrassed grin.

  ‘Ouch, Jean; that hurt,’ Angela complained. ‘Anyway, Cameron is my business,’ she said primly. ‘He’s been like a big brother to me over the years. And before either of you says anything, I deny all charges.’

  Jean was also in the mood to tease. ‘Really? I’m willing to bet that there was a time when you viewed Flight Lieutenant Ainslie with more than sisterly interest.’

  ‘Not guilty,’ Angela insisted. ‘Yes; Cameron fits the suitor bill – tall, fair and handsome, so to speak. But I practically grew up with the dear boy. Hugh and he used to press-gang me into playing cricket with them. I was always the wicket-keeper, worst luck.’

  ‘So I’m safe,’ Mary said wryly.

  ‘You’d have been safe anyway.’ Angela had moved on from lipstick to powder puff, with which she briskly dabbed her nose and cheeks. ‘Cameron is smitten with you, darling. You’re much more his type than I am – silent and enigmatic, with hidden depths like the adorable Greta Garbo. You remember – “I vant to be alone!”’

  ‘Tell her to shut up,’ Jean urged again.

  ‘No, I don’t mind,’ Mary admitted. ‘It’s a relief to have it out in the open, especially since Cameron has to leave Rixley soon. After that I’ll be on tenterhooks, watching out for the postman, waiting to hear from him. He’s been posted to the RAF base at Aireby,’ she explained to a puzzled Angela and Jean.

  ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ they chorused as one.

  ‘Life is cruel for star-crossed lovers.’ Angela sighed. ‘Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou …?’

  ‘Shut up, Angela. But Aireby is close by,’ Jean commiserated with Mary. ‘And while we’re at it with the confessions, I have some news of my own.’

  ‘Do tell.’ Angela’s deep-blue eyes sparkled. ‘No; let me consult my crystal ball.’ Her hands hovered over the small metal teapot on the table in front of them. ‘The mist is clearing; Jean, I see you walking arm in arm with a distinguished older man. He’s in uniform. You’re deeply in love. His name begins with a … “D”. Yes; Douglas Thornton is his name!’

  Jean took Angela’s joshing with good grace. ‘It’s perfectly true; Douglas and I are engaged.’

  ‘No!’ Mary leaned across the table and grasped Jean’s wrist. ‘You two will tie the knot?’

  ‘I was right,’ Angela crowed. ‘He went down on bended knee without consulting yours truly?’

  ‘Actually, it was me,’ Jean said, loud and clear. ‘I was the one who proposed.’

  ‘Congratulations.’ Mary beamed at Jean as Angela gave a delighted squeal. ‘He said yes? Of course he did; you’re engaged. That’s marvellous.’

  Jean recalled how fast her heart had raced as she’d knelt beside Douglas in the library at the Grange. We should get married as soon as possible. What do you think?

  He’d gazed down at her for a long time. ‘Are you s
ure?’ he’d said at last.

  ‘Never more certain,’ she’d murmured. She’d held her breath and he’d taken her hand in his. His whispered words had fallen like a blessing on her head.

  ‘Yes, we’ll be married. Name the day.’

  Soon after Christmas – in the register office in Northgate. They would find two witnesses and do it without fuss on the first Saturday in January. There would be a wedding ring and a short civil ceremony. All would be perfect.

  ‘How did you manage to keep that under your hat?’ Angela demanded.

  ‘It only happened last Thursday.’

  ‘Today’s Monday – that’s four whole days!’ Angela was almost speechless with excitement.

  ‘You know me.’ Jean basked in a quiet, golden glow of happiness. ‘I’m not one to make a fuss. And Douglas is the same. We want to get married quietly. In any case, Angela, you have no room to talk; you’ve been playing your cards close to your chest.’

  ‘What does she mean?’ Mary demanded.

  ‘I expect Jean is talking about Lionel’s visit.’ Angela assumed a careless air that fooled no one.

  ‘Aha!’ Mary pounced on the opportunity to turn the tables. ‘How did he pull that off? Did he get shore leave? Where did he take you? Come along, Angela, I’m all ears.’

  ‘Really, I’d rather not talk about it.’ Angela pretended that she was busy looking out of the window for Olive. ‘Some other time, perhaps.’

  ‘No, you can’t fob us off that easily,’ Mary insisted. ‘Has Lionel bought your engagement ring? Is that why he came?’

  Angela settled back into her seat. ‘There is no engagement,’ she said in a dull voice. ‘There; now you know.’

  Jean and Mary stared quizzically at her. ‘Oh dear; that’s a shame,’ Jean murmured.

  ‘I’m really sorry.’ Mary supposed that it was Lionel who had broken it off – hence the reason for his visit.

  ‘Don’t be, darling.’ Angela made as if to pull her packet of cigarettes out of her pocket then thought better of it. ‘I wrote Lionel a letter soon after Pa disinherited me, doing the decent thing by releasing him and so forth. Bobbie knows the full story. It was a weight off my mind, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘But …?’ From Angela’s tone and unusually thoughtful expression, Jean sensed that there was more to come.

  ‘But Lionel, bless his heart, refused to see things my way. He came all the way to the Grange to tell me that he still loves me.’

  ‘Oh, poor Lionel.’ Though she didn’t know the man, Mary’s heart went out to Angela’s rejected fiancé. ‘All for nothing.’

  ‘Who said it was for nothing?’ Angela tapped the table nervously. Beneath the newly applied make-up her face looked careworn. There were dark circles under her eyes and a knotted frown creased her usually smooth forehead. ‘I did listen to what Lionel had to say.’

  ‘And?’ Jean prompted.

  ‘I promised I would think it over.’

  ‘And?’ This time it was Mary who pressed for more information.

  Angela shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ To Mary it seemed obvious; either Angela still loved Lionel or she didn’t.

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Angela sighed. ‘How can it work between us now that I have no money, no station in life? Lionel’s family is filthy rich, you see.’

  ‘So?’ Mary raised her eyebrows and glanced at Jean, who remained silent.

  ‘His father won’t allow me to drag his son into the gutter – not without a fight.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Mary couldn’t help herself. Slapping the table with both palms, she rose to her feet with an indignant snort. ‘That would be the end, wouldn’t it – for you and Lionel to land up in the so-called gutter? Somehow I can’t see that happening; can you, Jean?’ Really and truly, Angela was talking a load of rubbish. ‘Try getting a job as a weaver or a spinner in one of the mills I used to work in, being paid a pittance and getting laid off when the orders stop coming in – then you’d know what you were talking about.’

  ‘You’re right, Mary; I’m awfully sorry.’ A sudden, acute awareness of her family’s textile empire pushed Angela into a profuse apology.

  Jean looked from the privileged mill-owner’s daughter to the erstwhile wool carder. ‘Oddly enough, you are both in the same boat,’ she pointed out with calm logic. ‘It turns out you’re both in love with men who are much wealthier than you and in your minds you regard it as a problem.’

  Mary nodded. ‘That’s true. I thought in the beginning that I wasn’t good enough for Cameron, that I didn’t belong in his world.’ Now, however, Mary had only to be with him for a few seconds, to listen to his voice and feel his soft touch, to know that their love was real and enduring. ‘It’s different now, though.’

  ‘Naturally, darling,’ Angela said wearily. ‘Anyone with eyes to see knows that you’re the best thing that’s happened to Cameron in a very long time.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Jean pursued her argument, aware that at any moment Olive might arrive and put an end to the conversation. ‘These obstacles are inside our own heads; take the difference in ages between me and Douglas as another example.’

  ‘Talking of whom …’ Angela was reminded of the file that had lain on Douglas’s desk and she was glad to change the subject. She rushed ahead without thinking. ‘Jean, has Douglas mentioned to you that Teddy may be about to be hauled before a military court?’

  There was a stunned silence. ‘You’re not serious?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Hand on heart,’ Angela swore. ‘I’ve seen the file. I understand there’s at least one witness – a man called Wynne or Flynn.’ Oh dear; she’d promised Hilary she would keep schtum and now here she was, putting her clod-hopping, great big foot in it.

  ‘Douglas hinted at it but I wouldn’t expect him to break confidentiality,’ Jean said primly after she’d gathered her thoughts.

  ‘What’s Teddy done now?’ Mary wanted to know. ‘Is it to do with Bobbie?’

  Angela backtracked frantically. ‘Please forget it; I ought not to have said anything.’

  ‘But you did,’ Mary persisted. ‘If it’s not what Teddy did to Bobbie, then why is he in trouble?’

  ‘I don’t know – truly, I don’t.’ Angela reached for her cigarettes and this time she went ahead, lighting up then inhaling deeply as she thought things through. ‘Perhaps I should try to winkle it out of him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Not for the first time, Jean cast doubt over Angela’s tactics. ‘If Teddy really is in line for a court martial, oughtn’t we just to sit back and let events take their course?’

  ‘Jean’s right,’ Mary agreed, after weighing up the pros and cons. ‘Let’s concentrate on looking after Bobbie and leave Teddy to his fate.’

  Angela ground her partially smoked cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Absolutely not,’ she decreed. ‘For a start, he refuses to leave Bobbie alone. Haven’t you noticed how he torments her with gifts and insinuations to throw us off the scent? I for one refuse to let him carry on punishing her in that way.’

  ‘There’s something else to take into account,’ Jean pointed out. The more she thought it through, the more clearly she saw that the risk Angela proposed to take was too high. ‘It’ll come to an end soon enough; Teddy has already announced that he’s leaving Rixley.’

  ‘For a promotion,’ Mary added.

  ‘Promotion, my foot!’ Angela exclaimed. ‘That’s another lie – to hide the fact that he’s going up before the beak. If necessary Teddy intends to go out in a blaze of false glory.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Jean admitted. ‘But either way Bobbie will be rid of him.’

  ‘But without getting the justice she deserves.’ It remained crystal clear to Angela that Teddy must be made to pay. ‘Bobbie would have to live with that fact for the rest of her life.’

  ‘Yes, I see that.’ Mary poured the last of the tea and milk into her cup. ‘But if Teddy is as dangerous as we think then yo
u need to be very careful.’

  ‘I will be,’ Angela promised. ‘As I’ve said before, it’s a question of playing a role, of getting him to trust me.’

  Jean gasped as she gained a clear grasp of Angela’s goal. ‘Are you saying that you intend to make Teddy confess?’

  Without answering, Angela reached for her helmet and parachute pack. ‘Here comes Olive,’ she announced airily as a black car swept through the main gate with their driver at the wheel.

  ‘Angela!’ Jean stood in her way. ‘Why would Teddy do that? He has far too much to lose.’

  ‘Jean’s right.’ Mary added her opinion. ‘You’ll never manage it.’

  ‘Oh ye of little faith!’ Angela retorted as she slipped past Jean then hurried outside. ‘Just watch me. If there’s one thing I’m good at besides flying the latest Spit, it’s twisting an unsuspecting admirer around my little finger.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘How’s my favourite poster girl?’ Teddy intercepted Angela at the base of the control tower at Rixley. He was fresh off the train from Whitehaven, with his parachute pack slung over his shoulder, his sheepskin flying jacket unzipped and a red and blue striped scarf wrapped casually around his neck.

  ‘I’m tickety-boo, thank you. How’s your fine self?’

  ‘All the better for running into the best-looking pilot in Yorkshire.’ Teddy’s banter concealed the bad mood he’d been in all day, ever since he’d come off worst in his mid-air battle of nerves with Bobbie.

  ‘You’re very sweet, considering the journey I’ve just endured – all the way back from Wolverhampton, squashed like a sardine in the back seat of Olive’s Ford with Jean and Mary. A chump up front was being taught the basics of the four-speed gearbox. I must look a complete mess.’

  ‘Impossible.’ A grinning Teddy linked arms with Angela and guided her towards the canteen. ‘What do you say we refresh ourselves with a cuppa, reinforced with something a little stronger?’ He drew his flask from his pocket and waved it temptingly in front of her face.

  ‘Just the ticket,’ she murmured as she flashed him a brilliant smile and fell into step beside him.