Over and Out

by Fenella J Miller

  You’ll make a fantastically good civil engineer. When you’re qualified, we could use Greg’s money to set up a company and then you can design and build whatever you want.

  I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to come home to me.

  All my love forever.

  Ellie

  She read it through a few times and was satisfied with what she’d written. She didn’t expect a reply, but as long as he received it and knew he hadn’t burnt any boats it would have served its purpose. The baby was sleeping peacefully so her non-existent maternal skills wouldn’t be called for – thank goodness.

  It was difficult pretending everything was fine, but that’s what she did. They told Grandfather that Jack had been called back to work and he accepted this without question. Just before she set out for Hamble on the Sunday afternoon, she had time for a quick talk with her brother and his wife.

  ‘It’s going to be hard having him living with you until his death, George, and I admire you all for offering to take him in. I’m not sure I would have done.’

  ‘He took us in when we needed somewhere to live so it’s only fair, especially as I’ve got so much to learn about running things when he’s gone.’

  ‘It’s horrible seeing him so diminished. He was such a dominant personality but now he’s just a sad old man.’

  ‘Fiona and I are determined to make his last few months as comfortable as possible – it’s the least we can do in the circumstances.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll come and see him again, if you don’t mind. I’ll come to his funeral, of course.’

  ‘You’ve got more than enough to cope with at the moment, Ellie, you don’t need to be involved. I’m glad you didn’t ask him to remove you from his will – asking him to make any of your future children his beneficiaries instead was a good idea. One less thing for you and Jack to argue about.’

  ‘We’ll be back together again. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, I’ll be waiting.’

  She handed in the letter at the desk as she left the hotel. The others were remaining to have a second afternoon tea. She’d had enough of the pomp and ceremony and couldn’t wait to get back to her more mundane life even if it was now without the man she loved at her side.

  *

  Jack blundered his way back to White Waltham and had no idea how he’d managed it. What he wanted was to get drunk and stay that way for as long as possible but that wouldn’t change anything. He stuck his head into the office and told them he’d be available for duty the following day and then grabbed his bike and pedalled to his digs in the pub.

  The place was heaving with locals and the other guys from the ATA who were billeted there. He slipped in quietly and went straight to his room. He hadn’t expected to sleep but woke the next morning relatively okay and ready to work.

  On the Monday when he returned from his fifth delivery, he was handed a letter. He recognised the handwriting – it was from Ellie. He couldn’t open it but decided he’d keep it in his pocket – having it there would be some small comfort.

  If she wanted a divorce then she’d have to get her solicitor to contact him. Until then he wasn’t going to read anything she sent to him. It didn’t matter how much she told him she loved him, that she didn’t mind about his disability, that he was good enough for her, it would always come between them. She was definitely better off without him holding her back.

  He kept his head down, spoke to nobody unless he had to, and after a few days the guys left him alone. Initially refused to take his designated days off – work was his refuge. However, every day that he returned he expected to be handed another letter from Ellie – but she didn’t write again.

  The one he was carrying around with him must have said something significant. He’d no option but to read it however difficult that was going to be. He tore open the envelope and scanned the contents. His cheeks were wet when he’d finished reading it.

  He wasn’t ready yet, but she was right – the problem wasn’t anything to do with her money, it was to do with him feeling inadequate. Greg’s shadow hung between them however much she tried to tell him he was imagining it. Her first love had had both hands, was upper-class, rich – everything he wasn’t. He prayed – not something he often did – that one day he’d feel worthy to resume his place at her side.

  He didn’t understand what was happening to him as he’d always been such a happy-go-lucky sort of guy yet now he was permanently miserable. Perhaps he should talk to a doctor but like most blokes he didn’t like talking about his feelings. Until he got himself right, he wasn’t going to go and see Ellie.

  Just knowing she wasn’t going to give up on him gave him a faint flicker of hope that all wasn’t lost. He wasn’t sure what he was going to write, but he would reply to this letter, let her know that he’d do his best to get himself sorted out so that he could be the husband she deserved.

  Four

  June 1943

  Ellie kept Jack’s reply to her letter on her dressing table in the bedroom they had once shared. She frequently got it out and it was now dog eared and ink smudged. She didn’t need to read it really as she knew it by heart

  Ellie,

  I love you and pray that one day we can be together again and that you can forgive me for leaving you like this. I can hardly believe that you’re prepared to wait for me in the hope that I can make myself the man you deserve.

  At the moment, I don’t know what I must do to change the way I feel but maybe something or someone will show me the way back to you.

  If you change your mind about things and want to divorce me then get your solicitors to contact me and I’ll do whatever is needed.

  Take care of yourself and I’ll be thinking about you always.

  Jack

  Two months had passed since that disastrous weekend but life had gone on, as had the war. Pauline Gower was visiting the pool and had just informed Ellie that she was to be the fourth from Hamble to convert to Class V – Lettice, who was mostly stationed at number one ferry pool at White Waltham, had eventually completed her conversion and then Rose and Philippa had also done it. Pauline had told her it would be her turn next.

  When she returned to base after a gruelling day delivering three Wellingtons and a Dakota, she found Margaret waiting for her.

  ‘It’s all arranged, Ellie, I finally got the go-ahead to have someone else converted. I’m going to need as many of you as possible able to fly the heavy boys.’

  ‘Where exactly do I go? I expect it will take longer than when I upgraded to Class IV plus last year.’

  ‘You’re going to the RAF bomber station at Marston Moor in Yorkshire. We’ve got a small Class V unit there with our own instructors and flight engineers. You’ll have no problems at all.’

  ‘Thank you for your confidence in me. Do we have a date or is that still to be decided?’

  ‘Alison has you down to take a Spit to Blackpool and then a Mosquito to Prestwick. You can get a flip to Marston Moor from there. Should be able to do your conversion tomorrow and with luck will be back here by Wednesday.’

  ‘Someone told me it was the spring bank holiday two weeks ago on Monday the fourteenth – I didn’t notice any difference. What I mean is that no one else is taking time off so why should I worry if I miss a day’s leave?’

  ‘You haven’t taken any of your allowed days in the past two months. I insist that you have three days furlough before you return here. Spend time with your parents.’

  ‘Amanda’s baby is due next month and I’d really like save my leave to go and see her when it comes.’

  ‘First babies are often overdue but as soon as it does arrive then you can certainly arrange your leave to coincide with that.’

  ‘Thank you. See you first thing tomorrow.’

  She no longer visited the canteen or spent much time socialising. The combination of losing her best friend and her husband made her poor company. She loved her work but things just weren’t the same now. No longer bein
g able to share her day with either Jack or Amanda made her feel isolated.

  She had written to her dad and Mabel telling them what had happened in London, but hadn’t gone to see them. She certainly wasn’t going to St Albans whilst her grandfather was living there. She’d spoken to George a couple of weeks ago and although things weren’t easy, he sounded cheerful enough. The only good news she’d had recently was that Fiona was expecting again and the baby was due early next year.

  That night she wrote a quick note to Glebe Farm saying that she’d be coming to stay for a few days and should be there at the weekend. It would be good to be home even if it was without Jack at her side.

  The next morning she collected the Spitfire and delivered it safely. The weather had been perfect for flying when she’d left but the further north she went, the more it deteriorated. She was dubious about being able to complete today’s deliveries.

  Fortunately, there was a taxi Anson waiting and she arrived late morning to collect the Mosquito. When she spoke to the Met girl the news she got wasn’t encouraging.

  ‘There could be bad weather over Dumfries, with poor visibility owing to cloud and rain in that area.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind. This is a priority one delivery so I can’t hang about.’

  She’d flown one of these bombers several times before but checked in her little blue book just in case she’d forgotten any of its idiosyncrasies. Satisfied she knew what she was doing, she buckled up her harness and ran through her preflight checks.

  Her take off was perfect. She circled the base and then headed towards Dumfries. As she approached this area, the plane was rocked by gusts of wind and rain rattled off the fuselage. She climbed steeply until she was above the cloud.

  Thank God she knew how to use the instruments because now she was flying blind. She’d only done this once before when caught in a similar situation and had been forced to land on a USAAF base in Suffolk.

  According to her calculations she must be somewhere above the airfield. She started to descend through the murk and to her delight saw a flash of light down below. A Very light – another pilot was attempting to land in the filthy weather and it was exactly what she needed to guide her in. Good thing these flares were still allowed.

  As she approached, the light came on again but this time remained on far too long to be a Very light. The light continued to come on intermittently – it certainly wasn’t the airfield she was looking for. After a brief moment of panic, she recovered. Where the hell was she?

  Suddenly she realised where she was and what she was looking at. It was the smelting works at Barrow in Furness and she knew exactly where the airfield was in relation to this factory. She adjusted her position and in rapidly worsening conditions flew to her delivery point.

  They actually had to give her a Very light to help her in. When she clambered out of the aircraft it was tipping it down and she was grateful for her Sidcot suit which gave her some protection from the elements. With her parachute over one shoulder and her overnight bag in her hand she made a dash for the waiting transport.

  ‘You’re lucky to have got in, miss, I don’t reckon anyone else will land today,’ the driver said as he crunched the gears and sped off to the admin building.

  *

  Jack was called into the office by Frankie Francis the CO at White Waltham. ‘Park yourself, old chap, I’ve got a special op for you if you want it.’

  ‘I do want it. Need a bit of excitement in my life at the moment.’ That was putting it mildly as even flying his beloved Spitfires no longer seemed to mean anything to him.

  ‘There’s some chappies making a film about the ATA and want some acrobatic flying in a Spit to make it look a bit more exciting. I seem to recall that you were a stunt flyer in a previous life. Do you think you can still do it?’

  ‘You mean can I still do it one-handed?’

  ‘No, you chump, I mean have you forgotten how?’

  ‘Bloody hell – of course I haven’t. You want me to go up and show you right now?’

  ‘Might as well. The unit have been filming all day and are waiting to see who we’ve got. Not a practice run, Jack, just get in your kite and do your stuff.’

  For the first time in weeks, his black mood lifted. Frankie hadn’t asked him out of pity, but because he was the best man for the job.

  ‘Obviously, I can’t do it here.’

  ‘It’s all arranged; you can use Great Windsor Park. There’s a Spitfire waiting for you on the apron. The film crew can follow you in their van.’

  ‘Thanks for this, Frankie, just what I needed.’

  Word had spread and anyone who had an hour to spare and transport to travel in were determined to watch the filming. He walked across to the van, and the director – or he could have been the cameraman – jumped out and came to meet him.

  ‘You must be Jack Reynolds – we’ve been waiting for you. Thanks for agreeing to help out. My crew are setting up as we speak. What I want you to do is fly as low as you can to the camera, swoop in and out, that sort of thing. No aerobatics – just precision flying.’

  ‘Great, in the ATA there’s no buggering about allowed.’

  With a cheerful wave he ran across to the waiting fighter, scrambled up onto the wing, tossed his parachute in and then followed it. Two ground engineers checked his straps were fastened and then closed the cockpit.

  He waited for them to jump down and then ran through his preflight checks. It didn’t matter how many times you flew the same kite you never ignored this routine. Satisfied everything was as it should be, he taxied onto the strip and waited for the green light.

  He roared into the sky which was mercifully free of clouds today. He couldn’t resist doing a barrel roll as he left and knew he’d get a bollocking for doing so when he got back.

  Shooting up – as low-flying was called – was strictly forbidden so having this assignment was quite something. He spent the next hour diving down towards the camera getting as close as he could without actually knocking it off its tripod. He threw the Spit in several screeching right hand turns until the terrified cameraman indicated he’d got enough footage.

  With a flick of his wings Jack thundered one last time across the park at just below tree height before calling it a day and returning reluctantly to base. He only had to circle the airfield once before the strip was free for him to land.

  For sixty glorious minutes he’d forgotten his unhappiness and felt like a whole man again. Maybe another pilot could have done as well as he had, but he doubted it. Better face the music – nothing could spoil his good mood right now, even Frankie bawling him out.

  To his astonishment the reverse was true. ‘Well done, old chap, exactly what they wanted and shows what we can do. I don’t know how much of the footage will be used but I’m sure that everyone that watched you was impressed.’

  ‘I wish I could do that every day. I haven’t had such fun since… well, since I was in the flying circus before the war.’

  ‘No one could have done it better. I insist that to celebrate you take some leave as you’ve not had a day off for weeks.’

  He was about to refuse but then reconsidered. ‘Okay, maybe I’ll go and see my aunt in the smoke. I’ve not seen her since last year and then only briefly.’

  It seemed extraordinary that an hour doing stunts in a kite would make him feel that life, even one-handed, was worth living to the full.

  ‘Good show. I appreciate your dedication, Jack, but you need a couple of days R and R or you’ll start making mistakes. You’re the best flyer for moving the severely damaged fighters from the airbases to the MUs. I need you tickety-boo.’

  What he really wanted to do was go to Hamble and see Ellie but he wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. What he would do was write to her again and ask her to let him know when Sir Reginald died. Attending the funeral could be a step, perhaps, to restoring their marriage.

  His lips curved – there was another event that would possibly come firs
t and that was the arrival of Amanda and Nigel’s offspring. It must be due any time. He’d already purchased a silver christening set – God knew what use that was – comprising of a mug, rattle and miniature cutlery. Shocking waste of money in his opinion.

  He made his mind up. He wouldn’t go to London but Glebe Farm. It would be good to see Fred and Mabel again.

  He wrote his letter sitting at a table in the Mess and then handed it in to the office, with the necessary pennies for the stamp, for posting. An hour later he was squashed into the last seat in the taxi Anson that was on its way to collect pilots from Hornchurch.

  It was almost dark when he arrived at the station. There was a full moon and there was nothing wrong with his night vision. A five-mile walk on a perfect summer evening was just what he needed to get his thoughts in order. As he approached the lane that led down to the farm it belatedly occurred to him Ellie might be there. He should have checked with Fred and Mabel, but it was too late to turn back as the dogs had heard him and were approaching with the usual racket.

  ‘Quiet, you two, your barking will wake everyone within five miles of here.’ He leant down and fussed them and immediately they were quiet, but continued to dance around his ankles, obviously delighted to see him after so long.

  ‘Is that you, son? We heard the dogs.’ Fred was standing in front of the house in his pyjamas.

  ‘I should have rung, but only knew I’d got time off a few hours ago.’

  ‘Come in, come in, Jack lad, Mabel’s putting the kettle on.’

  He followed his father-in-law inside the large rambling farmhouse and embraced his stepmother-in-law fondly. ‘Mabel, it’s so good to see you. I didn’t like to come before – what with me leaving Ellie and everything.’

  ‘This is your home, love, even if you and Ellie have to come at separate times, you’ll always be welcome.’

  They sat in the kitchen drinking tea and talking. He went to bed feeling better than he had in months. Both Fred and Mabel considered the separation from Ellie to be temporary and were just waiting for them to talk things out and get back together.