by Ellie Dean
He didn’t want to watch any longer, but couldn’t look away from the mayhem which now stretched from one end of the bay to the other in the dwindling light. The infrastructure for the landings was all there in the dummy enemy positions and concrete pillboxes manned by the artillery battalion, but the thirty-man assault teams landing from the troop carriers and LSTs were weighed down with mortars, machine guns, bazookas and flamethrowers, and making heavy weather of getting up the beach. He could only hope that coming under live fire would wipe away the complacency that had infected them all, and make them move their asses quicker.
Operation Tiger would take place over a week at the end of April, culminating in a full rehearsal under live bombardment from the navy, the artillery battalions on shore, and the air force. The idea was to amass landing craft in the Channel from Plymouth and Brixham, then stage a beachhead landing at Slapton, just as they would in June on the beaches codenamed Utah and Omaha on the Cherbourg peninsula. The troops and equipment would embark on the same ships, and for the most part, from the same ports from which they would later leave for France.
Felix turned his back on it all and climbed into the jeep beside Herbert. ‘I need a drink,’ he said morosely.
‘It’s all a bit of a pig’s ear, isn’t it, sir?’ he replied sympathetically, firing up the engine. ‘I’m glad I’m not going to play much part in it.’
‘It’s an almighty balls-up,’ Felix growled. ‘And if things don’t improve soon, heads will roll. I can only imagine what Ike would say if he could see what was going on here – but thank God he’s occupied elsewhere.’
Herbert steered the jeep over the rough terrain until they reached what passed as a main road in this county of winding country lanes. ‘Back to your billet for that drink, sir? Or did you have somewhere else in mind?’
Felix noted the sly glance that accompanied this question, and decided the time had come to explain. ‘Mrs Porter is the daughter of a long-standing and very dear acquaintance,’ he said evenly. ‘And as I’m in the neighbourhood, it’s only right that I should spend some time with her.’ He looked at his driver sternly. ‘Do you have a problem with that, soldier?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘The Welcome Inn’s a nice, friendly little pub, and Mrs Claxton does keep a good pint.’
Felix smiled for the first time in hours. ‘I guess the company of young Ida is quite a draw as well,’ he teased. He saw the younger man redden. ‘Just watch out there, Herby,’ he advised. ‘Ida strikes me as a bit of a wild one.’
Herbert grinned. ‘That’s why I like her, sir.’
Felix chuckled, remembering his own youthful days in the army when he’d enjoyed the company of girls like Ida until he’d bowed to his father’s pressure and married his commanding officer’s daughter, Olivia. She’d turned out to be wild beneath that demure facade – but it was a wildness that had led to her destruction, and, ultimately, the end of their marriage.
Preferring not to dwell on that dark memory, he turned his mind to the report he’d have to write later tonight. It wouldn’t be easy to compose, for his concerns over the wisdom of these badly conceived rehearsals were legion. Yet write it he must, and if it gave those fossils in London a kick up the ass and made them see what was really going on down here, it might actually do some good.
He caught the delicious aroma of frying onions and grilled steak through the open window as they approached one of the sprawling camps, and his stomach rumbled. ‘Pull in here and we’ll have some chow first,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day, and we could both do with something before we drown our sorrows.’
Herbert grinned as he drove the jeep into the camp and came to a halt outside the commanding officers’ canteen. ‘I’ll see you in an hour, sir,’ he said, saluting before he hurried off to the junior officers’ mess, eager for a meal that didn’t consist of bully beef and over-boiled vegetables.
Felix ploughed through a T-bone steak and a mound of fried onions and potatoes, followed by apple pie and cream. Sated, he enjoyed a cup of rich, aromatic coffee, then checked his watch and went outside to find Herbert drawing up in the jeep.
‘I said I’d meet Mrs Porter at seven,’ he said as he climbed in next to him, ‘so you’d better put your foot down, Herby. We don’t want to keep the lady waiting.’
Herbert stifled a burp as he sent the jeep careering over the field and out through the sentry barriers. ‘If I go on eating this well, I won’t fit into my uniform,’ he said. ‘Not that I’m complaining. That cook certainly knows what he’s doing. I’ve never tasted steak like it.’
‘It’s prime beef brought over from the States,’ said Felix proudly. ‘Born and raised on some of the finest grazing in the world, you won’t taste better. Enjoy it while you can, son, because once all this is over you’ll be back to British army rations.’
Herbert chuckled. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, General.’
It was Carol’s turn to have a bath in the farmhouse this evening, for there was no hot water in the barn unless they heated up kettles on the primus, and with the restrictions, it meant that they’d been limited to two baths a week each, using less than four inches of water. She hated not bathing every day, and the awful feeling that the strip-wash she had each morning wasn’t really enough to keep her clean.
She reluctantly climbed out of the cooling water and swathed herself in a towel while she scrubbed the bath clean of the scum that rimmed the water mark Millicent had painted on the porcelain. It was disgusting, but there was nothing she could do about it, and at least she felt clean enough this evening not to have to worry that she might be less than fragrant when she met up with Felix, who was always impeccably groomed.
Rubbing her hair dry, she stood close to the heavy iron radiator which blasted out welcome heat. Felix was an enigma, for although he appeared to be open and friendly, he’d said very little about his home life, and not even mentioned Dolly during their trips to the cinema, his favourite bistro, or the evenings in the pub. She’d been forced to come to the conclusion that he must be waiting for her to open that particular conversation – and as enough time had elapsed to further sharpen her curiosity, she’d decided to broach the subject of her mother that evening.
She quickly dressed in her one pair of smart trousers, and pulled on a knitted twinset of jumper and cardigan over her vest and a cotton blouse. It would be a freezing walk over the hill to the pub, and as she had yet to fully recover from a heavy cold and hacking cough, she didn’t want to risk catching a chill. All the girls were coughing, spluttering and feverish after they’d been working long hours out in all weathers, and like them, Carol was impatient for spring to put in an appearance.
Brushing out her damp hair, she fixed the pearl studs her mother had given her for her twenty-first birthday into her earlobes, added a dusting of face powder, a dash of lipstick and a smidgen of mascara to her lashes. Ida’s rather sharp jibe about being underdressed had struck home, and she’d taken to smartening up and wearing a bit of make-up when she went out – which had become quite a regular thing over the past two months. She eyed her reflection, nodded approval and pulled on her wellington boots, overcoat and scarf in preparation for leaving the warm bathroom for the bleak stable yard.
Ida looked her up and down and grinned. ‘It’s good to see you making the effort,’ she said. ‘Your general will approve.’
‘He’s not my general,’ Carol replied, weary at having to repeat herself yet again. ‘He’s a friend of my mother’s.’
‘Well, he certainly seems to like your company,’ Ida persisted, dabbing at her blocked-up nose. ‘You’ve been out with ’im often enough.’
‘Drop it, Ida,’ Carol snapped. ‘He’s a family friend and wise advisor – in fact he’s begun to fill the gap in my life that my father would have filled if he’d lived – so just shut up for once, and keep your dirty thoughts to yourself.’
A deathly silence fell as the girls stared at her in surprise, and Ida went scarlet. ‘Bl
imey, gel,’ she muttered. ‘There ain’t no need to blow yer top.’
Carol felt a little ashamed of her outburst. It was unlike her to lose her temper, but Ida had really gone too far this time, and all the snide remarks had to be nipped in the bud. She finished drying her hair, dabbed the last of her favourite scent on her neck and wrists, and clipped the lead to Nipper’s collar.
‘I’m meeting him and Betty at seven,’ she said into the awkward silence. ‘Are you lot coming, or shall I go on my own?’
‘Nah, you’re all right, mate,’ rasped Maisie, with a hand to her sore throat. ‘Me and the others don’t feel too chipper and thought we’d stay in tonight and dose ourselves up on hot toddies.’ She held up the remains of Brendon’s rum.
Carol didn’t feel overly bright herself and would have preferred to be tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and rum toddy, but she’d made the arrangement a week ago, and as there was no way of contacting them, she couldn’t let them down. She wrapped her scarf more firmly round her neck, pulled the woollen hat down over her ears and headed for the door. ‘Enjoy the rum, and I’ll see you later.’
‘Tell Herby I’ll meet him at the weekend,’ said Ida before sneezing repeatedly into her handkerchief. ‘And see if you can get the general to put ’is ’and on some more rum or whisky. This cold ain’t gettin’ no better.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Carol closed the door and set off with Nipper pulling hard on the lead in his eagerness to sniff every blade of grass along the way.
The pub was lovely and warm, and still quite empty but for a group of British military police and GIs sitting in the corner, and Felix waiting for her in his usual place by the window. ‘Hello, Felix,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Sorry I’m late, but Nipper slipped his collar and I had the devil’s own job to catch him.’
His face lit up with a smile and he leapt to his feet to help her with her coat and scarf, and make a fuss of Nipper. ‘You look frozen,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we move closer to the fire?’
‘That would be nice. The others aren’t coming tonight,’ she added. ‘They’re still down with horrible colds.’
He made sure she and Nipper were settled by the roaring fire and went to the bar for her usual cider and then changed his mind. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any whisky under the counter, Mrs Claxton? Only Mrs Porter’s had a long walk, and she’s still getting over her cold.’
‘Well now, General,’ she said in her West Country burr, ‘seeing as it’s you, I do happen to have a drop. It’ll cost you, mind.’
Felix paid over the odds for the two tots of whisky, made a mental note to get some from the PX the next time, and carried them back to Carol. ‘They’re both for you,’ he said, sitting down to his usual cider. ‘You still look a little under the weather, if you don’t mind me saying.’
She was a bit put out after she’d made such an effort to look her best, but she said nothing and sipped the lovely whisky, which went down like silk and warmed her still rather tender throat. ‘I’m surprised Betty hasn’t come down from her rooms yet. She’s usually so prompt.’
‘She was with me earlier, but then some guy came in and they both went upstairs. By the look of him he wasn’t best pleased to see us sitting together, but he didn’t give me the chance to explain before he bundled her away.’
Carol felt a stab of alarm. ‘What did this man look like?’
‘Tall, tow-headed, about thirty, and dressed like all the farmers round here. I think she called him Ken, but I couldn’t swear to it.’
‘Oh, lawks. I hope he’s not here to cause trouble.’ At Felix’s enquiring look, she quickly explained: ‘He’s the chap she was seeing before the eviction – and before Brendon came on the scene. If word’s got out about Brendon …’ She set down her glass. ‘I think I’d better go up and make sure she’s all right.’
‘It’s probably best to leave them to it. Interfering in matters of the heart only leads to more trouble.’
Carol knew he was right and reluctantly sat back in her chair, but she was still uneasy. Ken was a big man, with an unreliable temperament – and if he’d heard about Brendon, then there was no telling what he might do.
The chatter and laughter continued around them as some of the land girls from the nearby farm came in accompanied by a group of GIs. A young military policeman started to play the piano, but it seemed no one was in the mood for a song tonight, so he continued to quietly coax some lovely melodies out of the battered old instrument, oblivious to the conversations going on around him.
Then, above the noise, Carol heard the unmistakable sound of a man’s angry voice. Alert and fearful, she got to her feet and hushed the piano player. Others had heard it too, and as it continued at an even greater volume, everyone fell silent, their attention fixed on the staircase which led to the landlady’s private rooms.
Mrs Claxton opened the flap in the bar just as there was the sound of a sharp slap and a yelp of pain. ‘Right, that’s it,’ she said, squeezing her bulk through the gap and advancing on the stairs. ‘I’ll have no truck with that sort of going on.’
Felix stopped her, his expression grim. ‘I’ll go.’
Another cry came from the top of the stairs, and before Felix and Carol could reach her, Betty came tumbling down to land at their feet with a bone-jarring thud. Ken hurtled after her, vaulted over Felix and Carol, who were bending to see to Betty, and made for the door.
‘Don’t let him get away,’ yelled Mrs Claxton above Nipper’s excited yapping and the land girls’ cries of horror.
There was a surge towards the door, and within minutes, Ken was hauled back into the bar having somehow gained two black eyes and a split lip along the way. Mrs Claxton used the military policemen’s handcuffs to secure him firmly to a heavy chair, and ordered the grim-faced men to keep an eye on him.
‘I didn’t mean to hurt her,’ he whined. ‘She slipped.’
Mrs Claxton glared at him and sniffed her disdain. ‘I’m telephoning the police,’ she snapped.
‘You’d better call the ambulance first,’ said Felix as he and Carol knelt by the still, pale little figure lying at an awkward angle at the bottom of the stairs.
‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Mrs Claxton. ‘The nearest ambulance station is on the other side of the restriction zone, and it will take hours to get here.’
‘Then I’ll ring the American hospital, and get them to fetch her.’ He left Carol with Betty and strode to the telephone on the wall behind the bar.
‘That won’t do you no good, neither,’ Mrs Claxton muttered. ‘That there hospital is for American personnel only – not the likes of us civilians.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ he said grimly as he drummed his fingers and waited impatiently for someone to answer at the other end. ‘This is General Addington,’ he said the moment he got through. ‘I have an emergency at the Welcome Inn in Beeson and require an ambulance and medic immediately.’
He cut off the woman’s questions. ‘She’s a civilian, and I’m a three-star general. You will obey my order, or be on immediate charge. Is that clear?’ He listened some more and then replaced the receiver. ‘They’ll be here in ten minutes,’ he announced into the stunned silence.
Carol didn’t dare touch Betty in case she’d damaged her neck or spine in the fall, but she held her hand, feeling utterly helpless and terrified at how ashen she was.
‘Poor lamb,’ said Mrs Claxton, covering Betty in the blanket she’d whipped off the old settle by the fire. ‘I hope that brute gets put away for a very long time for what he’s done.’
Carol barely glanced at Ken, who was still whining and protesting his innocence as Mrs Claxton called the police station and the men formed a daunting phalanx around him. ‘I want to go with her to the hospital, Felix,’ she said. ‘She’ll be so frightened and confused when she wakes up, and I can’t bear the thought of her being alone.’
‘I’m pretty sure I can arrange it. These three stars mean something, and I usually get my way.�
�� He lifted Betty’s limp hand and checked her pulse. ‘Rapid, but quite faint,’ he murmured, ‘and she’s very cold. Do you have more blankets, Mrs Claxton?’
With a nod, the plump woman thudded up the stairs and returned with two more blankets and a pillow.
‘Not the pillow,’ said Felix. ‘We don’t want to move her head until we know her spine is intact.’
A sob of distress escaped from Carol as she held Betty’s hand and silently urged the ambulance to get a move on.
‘It’s okay, honey,’ soothed Felix. ‘I know you’re frightened for her, but she’ll get the very best medical care at our hospital.’
The minutes seemed to drag by, but at last they heard the urgent peal of the ambulance bell and within seconds there was a doctor rushing through the door followed by two army nurses.
Carol and Felix stood back and a tense silence fell in the bar as the doctor made his examination. ‘She’ll need X-rays,’ he drawled eventually. ‘But there doesn’t appear to be any damage to her spine. We’ll get her back to base where I can examine her more fully.’
‘Mrs Porter and I will accompany you,’ said Felix, his tone brooking no argument.
Betty was carefully lifted onto a stretcher by the nurses and was being carried out to the ambulance just as Constable Betts arrived with a colleague in his police van to cart Ken away to a prison cell in Kingsbridge.
Carol was about to follow the medics when she remembered she had Nipper to consider. Turning to Herbert, she handed him the leash. ‘Could you take him back to the farm for me? Tell the girls what’s happened, and warn them I probably won’t be coming back tonight.’
He nodded and then glanced at Felix. ‘Will you be needing the car again, sir?’
‘I doubt it,’ he said briskly. ‘See to the dog and go off duty.’
Carol climbed into the ambulance beside the driver, with Felix crammed in alongside her. The doors slammed and within seconds they were roaring into the night at breakneck speed, just as a massed flight of Allied bombers flew overhead, their wings all but skimming the hills, the heavy-bellied roar of their engines making conversation impossible.