The Rainbow Years

by Bradshaw, Rita

  She shook her head. This funny feeling was all tied up with him; for the first time in her life she was seeing him as a man rather than her dear old Bruce and it was disconcerting. Forcing a teasing note into her voice, she said, ‘You go back and help the great Nick Johnson. And I’m sorry I criticised him but I think he’s very lucky to have you for a friend, if you want to know. I’m on duty in the men’s mess tomorrow so no doubt I’ll see you then. ’Night, Bruce.’

  ‘’Night, Amy.’

  The WAAFs exited the ladies’ as Amy walked off, the cheekiest saying brightly, ‘Left you already, has she?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Bruce grinned. ‘But there’s plenty more fish in the sea. Isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘Ooh, hark at him, and me with the surname of Kipper an’ all!’

  Chapter 18

  Nick Johnson watched Bruce enter the room with the two WAAFs and all three were smiling broadly. His eyes went beyond them but when the door remained shut, the green gaze returned to Bruce who eventually reached the table. After a spot of banter with one or two of the other airmen, Bruce sat down beside him.

  ‘How are we doing?’ Bruce asked without any enthusiasm.

  ‘Miserably,’ Nick answered in the same tone, pushing a glass of beer towards Bruce and taking a pull at his own glass. Most of the airmen on their table were calling asides to the WAAFs sitting opposite, and under cover of the general chatter, he said, ‘Where’s your cousin run off to?’

  ‘She’s got a headache.’

  ‘A headache?’ Nick grinned, keeping his tone light as he asked the question he’d wanted to ask all evening. ‘Isn’t that more of a girlfriend’s excuse? Sure you two aren’t kissing cousins?’

  Bruce looked him straight in the face. ‘We were brought up as brother and sister. Amy lost her parents early on and mine took her in. OK?’

  ‘Fine, fine, don’t take offence. I just wondered, that’s all. She’s a stunning-looking woman.’

  ‘Yes, she is, but for the record she’s not like plenty I could name. She’s not into this “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die” frame of mind, Nick.You understand what I mean?’

  Nick looked into his friend’s tense face for a moment and then nodded slowly, and now there was no laughter in his voice when he said, ‘I think so. You’re warning me off, right?’

  ‘I’m just saying she doesn’t play around, it’s not in her nature and if anyone, anyone spun her a line they’d have me to answer to.’

  Nick shook his head slowly. ‘Look, mate, I hate to mention it but your little lamb has landed smack in a den of wolves, and she’s been noticed. Take it from me. And she’s not a schoolgirl, Bruce. You’ve got to let her grow up sometime.’

  ‘She is grown up.’

  Something in Bruce’s voice caused the green eyes to narrow. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning nothing.’ Bruce swallowed half the glass of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Nick, Amy can take care of herself.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ Nick’s voice was wry. ‘I just wondered if you knew it. Believe me, she’s all ice when she wants to be.’

  ‘She hasn’t fallen for the Johnson legendary charm then?’

  ‘Not so you’d notice.’

  ‘Shame.’ Bruce’s smile widened and then he ducked as Nick aimed a playful punch at his chin.

  The two men didn’t mention Amy again for the rest of the evening but she was on both their minds.

  Amy wrote to Kitty the very next evening. She had spoken to Bruce again in the mess but briefly; he had been subdued and she knew why. Following the new tactic against the enemy which had been inaugurated at the beginning of the year, a number of their fighter pilots had escorted a Blenheim bomber unit over the Channel that morning. The simple aim was to force German fighters into the air in circumstances ostensibly favourable to the RAF, but although the theory was good, everyone on the station knew the practice was far from perfect. Until the boys were back safely, the camp was on edge and no amount of forced cheerful-ness could hide it.

  At the quiz the night before, Cassie had made a date with one of the young pilots she’d had her eye on for ages and she grew increasingly tense as the hours went by. At one point she seasoned the mutton stew with sugar instead of salt, but no one complained and it got eaten just the same. It was a great relief late in the afternoon when word came that every plane had returned to the airfield and there were no casualties.

  Much to her annoyance, Amy had found herself thinking of Nick as she had gone about her work. It was only because he had irritated her so thoroughly, of course, that and the fact that her blood had run cold when Bruce had said Nick’s luck couldn’t last for ever. She wished he hadn’t said that. If he’d been trying to make her feel bad, he had succeeded. Whatever she thought of Nick Johnson, she wouldn’t wish for him to be hurt - she wouldn’t wish for any of their lads to be hurt, she qualified firmly. And then she brought her mind back to the matter in hand and stared down at the paper in front of her. She’d already written to Winnie and Nell and Pamela; those letters had been easy. Kitty’s wasn’t.

  ‘Dear Kitty, You’re probably surprised to hear from me after all this time,’ she read for the umpteenth time. She had got no further than that and the way she was going she never would.

  She sighed, and then a little voice from the bed on her left reminded her she wasn’t alone. ‘Difficult letter?’ Gertie asked tentatively.

  All the other girls had either gone to the Black Swan, the cosy old pub where most of the airmen and airwomen socialised other than the NAAFI and where Cassie was meeting her pilot, or were rehearsing for the production the theatre company was putting on. Isobel and another WAAF were on forty-eight-hour leave.

  ‘Sort of.’ Amy tried not to show any impatience. Gertie was a good few years younger than herself and wasn’t the type of person who ever wanted to be alone, but sometimes Amy longed for a little time to herself. It was hard to come by with so many women sharing the hut and all the duties of the station. She looked at Gertie now, saying, ‘I thought you were going to write a couple of letters?’ That was the excuse Gertie had made not to join the others when they had asked her.

  Gertie shrugged and put down the book she had been reading. ‘There’s no one I want to write to.’

  ‘What about your mother? Didn’t she write to you the other day? She’ll be expecting an answer soon.’ To Amy’s knowledge Gertie hadn’t written home once during training camp or since they had been at Norwich. ‘No doubt she’s missing you,’ she added encouragingly, though she wondered if this really was the case. There was something funny about Gertie’s home, she was sure of it.

  Gertie shrugged again, looking at her so strangely Amy didn’t know whether to lower her head to her letter or go over and put her arm round the other girl. In the event she did neither, saying instead, ‘Do you want to see a picture of my mam? She died when I was just a baby.’

  ‘Did she?’ Gertie slid off her bed and onto Amy’s, perching at her side as Amy reached into the drawer of her locker and brought out the precious little portrait.

  ‘Oh, she’s lovely, Amy. Beautiful. And she looks ever so like you. What about your father? Did he bring you up by himself or did you have any brothers and sisters to help?’

  ‘My father had already been killed in the First World War and I was an only child. An uncle took me in, Bruce’s da. You know my cousin here? His da. So Bruce and I are like sister and brother. I didn’t get on so well with the rest of my cousins though, or my aunt. She . . . she didn’t like me.’

  She didn’t know why she was telling Gertie all this; she rarely spoke of personal matters.

  Gertie said nothing, continuing to stare at the picture in her hand for so long that Amy assumed the conversation was at an end. Then Gertie said in a very low voice, ‘My mother doesn’t like me. Oh, she pretends she does, she’s always going on about how nice it was to have a girl after five boys, but she doesn’t, not re
ally. Was your aunt like that?’

  Amy stared at Gertie’s bent head. The pain in her young friend’s voice was upsetting. ‘My aunt made it very plain to everyone she didn’t like me,’ she said quietly.

  ‘That’s better than pretending.’

  ‘Gertie, I’m sure your mam does love you. It’s just that some people have a job expressing their feelings.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘She doesn’t.’ Gertie’s head was still bowed. ‘Oh, she loves my brothers, she can’t do enough for them, but I’ve always known she doesn’t like me. If ever my father or one of my brothers made a fuss of me she’d go all cold and huffy, and ten to one when we were alone she’d make some excuse to go for me. It got so it was better for me to try and stay out of their way because I got fed up with being knocked about. It’s like she’s jealous of me, of having another female in the house, but I can’t help being a girl, can I?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Amy took Gertie’s hand.‘What about your da? Can’t he tell her to leave you alone?’

  ‘She never does anything in front of him or the others. And once when I tried to tell him she changed it all round and made out I was lying and said all sorts of things. There was a terrible row and my dad said he was bitterly disappointed in me. I’ve never forgotten it. He . . . he said why couldn’t I be more like the boys were with my mother? Why did I have to upset her all the time and be so awkward?’ Gertie was crying now. ‘And it’s got much worse lately since I left school.’

  Well, if Gertie was right and her mother was jealous of her, she could understand that, Amy thought, because Gertie was showing signs of developing into a very pretty young woman.

  ‘So I joined up. I just went and did it and left a note. I knew my mother would persuade my dad not to do anything, she’d be too glad to get rid of me,’ she added pathetically. ‘It was my chance to escape everything, if you know what I mean.’

  Amy nodded. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said quietly, giving Gertie a hug. ‘I know all about escaping.’

  ‘I thought so. I sort of felt there was something.’

  Suddenly it was easy to begin talking. She told Gertie all of it, not leaving out a thing. It was the first time she had spoken of the death of her baby and the operation that had robbed her of ever being a mother, and she couldn’t say she felt better afterwards. In fact she felt so worked up she didn’t know how she felt. But Gertie cried for her and they hugged some more before Amy made them each a mug of cocoa and some toast. After this Gertie got undressed and climbed into her bed, falling asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  Amy picked up her pen. The words to Kitty flowed quite easily now. She asked Kitty’s forgiveness for not writing before and said if Kitty wanted to write back she would love to hear from her. She mentioned she’d seen Bruce and asked her not to say anything to Perce.

  Once it was finished, Amy breathed a sigh of relief. By the time the other girls began to dribble back to the hut, she was fast asleep in bed, curled up like a small animal under the blankets with her hot water bottle clutched to her stomach.

  The next few weeks were hectic, but despite the often gloomy news bulletins and busy work day, Amy was conscious of feeling more at peace with herself than she had in a long time. She didn’t understand why, and perhaps it didn’t matter, but in facing up to what had happened by voicing it to Gertie, something had settled deep inside. Her child would always be part of her, a secret sorrow held close to her heart, and she knew his loss and the certainty that no other babies would follow would always evoke a depth of emotion nothing else could, but she had to live with that. She couldn’t do anything else if she wanted to make something of her future.

  Since they’d had their heart-to-heart, Gertie seemed happier too. A side of her friend was emerging that showed Gertie to be bright and witty when she was with people she could relax with, and there were times when she positively sparkled. Bruce seemed to have taken Gertie under his wing a bit,Amy had noticed, and Gertie had certainly gained confidence from this and was no longer a shy wallflower at the NAAFI dances. Amy was glad for her, and it also meant she didn’t feel wholly responsible for Gertie any more.

  Cassie and her pilot were getting on like a house on fire which made for happy working relations; she walked about with a big grin on her face all day despite the constant ribbing she got from the RAF cooks. When she and Amy and sometimes June, another WAAF cook, took the sandwiches they prepared to the aircrews, along with their rations of chocolate, fruit and other items, Cassie always managed to grab a few moments with her pilot if he wasn’t in the air. The three girls would sit for a few minutes on the grass watching the planes being overhauled and inevitably Cassie’s man would stroll over, sometimes accompanied by other pilots.Amy didn’t mind as long as they didn’t include Nick. She saw him in the mess often, sometimes with Bruce or other friends, and again in the NAAFI in the evening, and it always disturbed her. Bruce was his normal friendly self, chatting with Gertie as much as her and pulling the younger girl’s leg and teasing her, but Nick was more serious, often just sitting and staring at Amy with unfathomable green eyes. It was unnerving. Amy almost thought she preferred the womanising Casanova approach of the early days. And she still felt faintly unsettled about Bruce. Try as she might, she couldn’t see him in the old way any more.

  Kitty had written back a warm letter that made Amy glad she had contacted her. Nell and Pamela wrote too; it appeared Nell was training to be a fabric worker on a balloon squadron and Pamela was doing something so top secret she couldn’t say what it was. Isobel married her Philip the first week of May, just as the weather changed and nightingales began to sing in the trees around the camp, and suddenly before they knew it the warm sunshine they’d all been longing for had arrived. This had less impact on Amy than most of the others because she was worried sick about Winnie.

  The second week of May had seen a night raid on the capital that even Londoners, hardened by the horrors of nine months of the Blitz, were shaken by. In brilliant moonlight German planes had indiscriminately dropped hundreds of high-explosive bombs and incendiaries over the city, the Nazi High Command describing the ferocious attack as ‘a reprisal for the methodical bombing of the residential quarters of German towns, including Berlin’.

  The NAAFI had been silent when the newscaster had reported that historic London had been shattered and civilian casualties were high, and immediately Amy had written to Winnie, asking her friend to let her know she was safe. That had been on the morning of the eleventh of May. It was now the last day of the month and Amy had just received the news she had been dreading.

  She stared down at the piece of paper in her hands, unable to believe she would never see Winnie’s plump, bright-eyed face again. One of Winnie’s sons had written informing Amy of his mother’s death.

  ‘Bad news?’ Isobel noticed Amy’s stricken face. Isobel’s own eyes were pink-rimmed; her brother had been on HMS Hood which had been sunk by the Bismarck a week before, and he hadn’t been among the handful of crew who had survived.The newspapers might have gloated that it was sweet revenge when the Royal Navy sank the German battleship three days later, but it hadn’t comforted Isobel much.

  ‘It’s Winnie.’ As Amy spoke, Gertie and a number of other girls who were nearby gathered round, sensing another tragedy in their midst. There had been far too many lately. ‘She’s gone.’ She brushed back a wisp of hair from her brow, her hand shaking. ‘The café, everything’s gone.’ All Winnie had laboured and sweated and strived for. The Germans had destroyed it all and taken her too. Her dear old Winnie.Their plans for the expansion of the business after the war and Winnie becoming more of a sleeping partner so she could spend time with her grandchidren wouldn’t happen now, and Winnie had been so looking forward to it.

  Amy went about her duties on automatic in the kitchens, and her state of mind wasn’t helped when the camp grapevine reported A Flight had left at first light to join other squadrons in a mass fighter sweep escort
ing Stirlings to knock the hell out of the shipping in Brest.

  Cassie’s pilot, along with Nick Johnson, was in A Flight, and as was usually the case when there was no chance of seeing him hanging about the airfield, Cassie wasn’t too enthusiastic about taking sandwiches to the airmen and airwomen manning their various posts there. June was in the sick bay with stomach cramps so Amy agreed to accompany the RAF driver, a cheery soul with a face as brown as tanned leather.

  There were Spitfires dispersed around the airfield when they drove onto the fifty-foot-wide perimeter track, and as Amy’s eyes took in their beautiful lines she remembered a recent conversation she’d heard in the NAAFI. Nick and an ex-Hurricane pilot had been arguing about the monoplanes’ different attributes. She had been sitting with Bruce and Gertie and a couple of other airmen and had pretended not to listen, but out of the corner of her eye she had watched Nick’s face as he’d spoken with passion about his machine.

  ‘The Spitfire has all the speed and grace of a greyhound,’ he insisted when the other pilot declared the Hurricane was more solidly built and reliable, ‘and that’s what you want when Jerry’s on your tail, not a bulldog. She’ll get you out of trouble and poke Jerry in the eye while she’s doing it.’