Bluebirds

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘It’s them bloody Poles, pardon my French. The ones just arrived. Half of ’em don’t speak a word of English. They gabble away to each other in their lingo and keep leavin’ their mikes switched on so no-one else can transmit. Blinkin’ foreigners!’

  Anne listened to a torrent of Polish coming through the air. It was not like any language she had ever heard and after the clipped RAF English it sounded extraordinary. The pilot suddenly broke into singing – a passionate rendering of some Polish song.

  ‘Bloody madmen!’ Lofty said.

  Anne laughed, amused. The Polish pilots, she discovered later, all spoke some kind of English, including plenty of swear words that they used liberally in the air. They swore in French, too, and, presumably, in Polish. And they sang. Sometimes it was hard to understand their English over the R/T, or for them to understand her. She spoke comically slowly and clearly for their benefit but the answer would often come back, strongly accented:

  ‘Re-peat, plis. Re-peat, plis . . .’

  Death no longer shocked in quite the way it had done when the sprog pilot had crashed in flames earlier in the year. Several pilots had been lost defending the convoys and Pearl’s Dusty had been among those killed over Dunkirk in May. Pearl had cried a lot for him.

  ‘He was a bloody good bloke,’ she had kept saying, wiping away streaming tears. ‘A bloody good bloke.’

  Most of the original WAAFS had re-mustered to new trades and Pearl was now a parachute packer. She took a huge pride in her work. ‘If they have to jump out of the window, I make sure the flipping thing works.’

  Anne was sad, but somehow not surprised, to receive a letter from the adjutant of Jimmy’s squadron in Kent.

  Dear Miss Cunningham, Sergeant Pilot Shaw left instructions that you were to be notified in the event of his death. I am writing, therefore, with great regret to inform you that he was killed in action two days ago . . .

  She cried for poor, nice, shy Jimmy who had seemed to know that he would die. He’d been a pretty good bloke too. She went to her locker and found the envelope that he had given her addressed to his mother, with his wings inside. A promise was a promise and must be kept. When she went on leave she would take it to his home in Croydon.

  George pricked up his ears. He had been lying quietly beside Felicity’s desk while she was working on some papers and he suddenly lurched to his feet and cocked his head towards the door. There was a knock and it was flung wide. Speedy stood there, a piece of sticking plaster across his forehead. George scrabbled excitedly for the doorway.

  ‘Steady, old boy . . . down! Down!’ He smiled at Felicity over the dog’s head. ‘Well met by daylight, proud Titania.’

  ‘What! Brave flying officer . . .’

  ‘Flight lieutenant, actually.’ He came into the room with George still capering around his legs like a puppy, and stuck out his arm to show the two rings on his sleeve.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks. Bit of a fluke, really. They were getting short of bods. George, skip hence, for heaven’s sake! I played Bottom once, you know – under the direction of old Snodders. Paterson minor was Titania, as I recall, and he was nowhere near as pretty as you.’

  He leaned across the desk and kissed her cheek. She smiled up at him.

  ‘It’s good to see you safe and sound, Speedy.’

  ‘Have you been worrying about me?’

  ‘Naturally, I’ve been concerned . . . about all of you. We haven’t had much news since you went off to France. Just that phone call when you got back . . .’

  ‘Been a bit busy since then, that’s the trouble. It’s pretty hellish in our little corner at the moment. No peace for the wicked. Up and down the whole day long, smacking Jerry’s wrist for trying to sink our ships . . . Actually, I’ve bagged three of the blighters now – two in France and one into the drink here.’

  ‘Congratulations again.’

  He had perched himself on the corner of her desk, in the old way, and was twirling his cap on his finger and looking falsely modest. She thought he also looked exhausted, though his eyes were as bright as they had always been.

  ‘What have you done to your forehead?’

  He touched the plaster. ‘Oh that . . . Collided with the cockpit the other day when I had to put the kite down in a hurry. I’ll tell you all about it over the drink I’m about to buy you. Can’t stop long, more’s the pity. I managed to wangle a Maggie to flip over to see you and collect old George. I can see he’s been in clover – lucky chap!’

  George had returned to her side and was panting up at her as if anxious to show that he had not abandoned her. She stretched out her hand to pat him and Speedy caught sight of the new ring on her sleeve.

  ‘I say, what’s this? Promotion too?’

  ‘It’s Section Officer now, so mind your manners.’

  ‘I can’t keep remembering all these different names. Titania will have to do. Come and have that drink with me and I’ll tell you all my adventures.’

  ‘I’m actually allowed in the Mess itself now – no more purdah in the Ladies’ Room.’

  ‘Station Master changed his mind?’

  ‘About that, at least. Pressure of numbers, I think. There are nearly two hundred WAAFS here now, you know.’

  ‘I noticed a fair sprinkling. Haven’t I always told you what a jolly good idea they were, Titania? I passed a rather stunning redhead in the corridor just now, on my way in.’

  ‘That would have been Assistant Section Officer Park. She’s engaged.’

  ‘I never let that worry me . . . George, stay on guard. We’re going to drown our sorrows.’

  They walked over to the Officers’ Mess in the warm early evening sunshine.

  ‘How’s Whitters?’ she asked.

  ‘Cracking form. Got himself some new popsie now. Really smitten. He had to take to his brolly the other day. Bagged this 109 and then the Hun’s friends went and clobbered him. Matter of fact they travelled down together and landed in the same field. He said they had time for a quiet smoke and a bit of a chat before the local bobby arrived. Turned out this Jerry knew Whitters’ eldest sister rather well. He’d met her on some special course at Oxford before the war, apparently. Extraordinary coincidence that . . . Whitters said he was a pretty decent sort of type, actually. He promised to pass on his best regards to big sis when he next saw her. She’s in the WRNS, or something.’

  ‘And Dumbo? And Sinbad, and Moses? Are they all right?’

  ‘Fine and dandy. Getting a trifle weary of going once more unto the breach the whole time. Poor old Moses got a bit singed the other day when his kite caught fire, but he hopped out in time. I suppose things will get worse before they get better. Jerry seems to be giving us all his attention now he’s got the Frogs out of the way.’

  They went into the Mess. In the ante-room Speedy waved greetings at several of those present and flashed a shamelessly dazzling smile at two WAAF officers sitting quietly in a corner. Over their drinks he entertained Felicity with an account of his time in France. Everything had gone swimmingly to begin with, he told her. Five-star accommodation in some château, haute cuisine, wine flowing, the odd spot of flying thrown in . . . Then, when the Huns had suddenly got going and started strafing them they had had to move out pretty smartly. It had been tents and corned beef and not much shut-eye after that.

  ‘The fur really started flying, by George! In the end we had to pop off back over the Kanal before they finished us off altogether. That stuck in the old craw a bit, I can tell you, but there we are. We lived to fight another day . . . the next day, in fact. They sent us back over Dunkirk and we were dashing about all over the shop, trying to swat Jerries before they got to the brown jobs on the beaches. That’s when I got my brace . . .’ Speedy took a thoughtful swallow of his beer. ‘Frightful chaos over there, you know . . . lots of fearful black smoke from oil fires so you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, and everyone milling about. Anyway, some blasted Jerry jumped me as I was chasing
after a Junkers and winged me. Stopped the engine dead so there was nothing for it but to pancake in Frogland, which is not what I’d planned at all. I picked the nicest-looking field I could find and set her down – rather well, actually, though I say it myself. I missed the cows and stepped out without a scratch, and there was this French girl waiting with a glass of brandy. Jolly thoughtful of her. It went down a treat.’

  Felicity laughed. ‘Oh, Speedy . . . honestly! What did you do then?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t very well leave the Hurry for the Jerries to nab, so I said to Yvette – that was her name, it turned out – in my best accent: avez-vous des allumettes, s’il vous plaît? And she very kindly nipped off and got me some. Luckily there was a good bit of fuel leaking about the kite, and fluid, and so on, and up she went in a trice – woomph! Rather sad, really. Still, it was better than the Jerries getting their dirty paws on her.’

  ‘You had to do it, Speedy.’

  ‘Yes . . . Anyway, what with all the commotion – the Guy Fawkes bonfire and the cows charging about in all directions – I thought I’d better make myself scarce and head for home PDQ. Yvette came up trumps again and lent me an old bike. She pointed in the general direction of la mer and off I pedalled. The roads were absolutely chock-a-block with all these French people pushing carts and prams and whatnot . . . had to weave in and out of them like an obstacle course.’ Speedy turned his head. ‘Watch out! Enter the Demon King.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t look now but your favourite man has just come in with old Robbie. I say, it’s Group Captain now, by the look of things. Promotion all round. You didn’t tell me that.’

  ‘Go on with the story, Speedy.’

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘Bicycling along towards the sea.’

  ‘So I was. Well, I finally got to Dunkirk. It was pretty hairy there – fires raging, buildings bombed to rubble, vehicles abandoned all over the place. I found some navy type who told me everyone was heading for the beach, so off I went again. When I got there it was like the rush hour with everyone queueing up to get on the ships in great long lines . . . I tagged on the end of one behind a lot of army chaps. They were jolly unfriendly.’

  ‘Why?’ Felicity asked indignantly.

  ‘Wanted to know where on earth the RAF had been . . . actually they put it a bit stronger than that. Why hadn’t we stopped the Huns dropping bombs on them – that sort of thing. I tried to tell them that we’d been up there, above the smoke, doing our little best – and against sticky odds, I might add . . . Whitters, Dumbo and I took on about fifty of the blighters at one point – but I don’t think they believed me. We were just discussing it, as it were, when another lot of Stukas came over and we all dived for cover. Bombs raining down, frightful racket . . . made me jolly glad I’d never joined the army. Absolute sitting ducks.’

  ‘It must have been awful, Speedy.’

  ‘It was rather. Anyway, after the dust had settled I happened to see an empty rowing boat bobbing about not far out, so I made a quick dash for it, along with a couple of other chaps. Luckily there were some oars and we took turns in rowing in the general direction of the White Cliffs. The funny thing was that it turned out we were an Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman. We told quite a few jokes along those lines to pass the time.’

  ‘You mean you rowed all the way across?’

  ‘About halfway, I suppose. Then one of those old Thames barges chuntered by and picked us up. Chap steering called out “any more for the Skylark?” Standing room only and a Jerry escort part of the way but he was a rotten shot and we made it all right to Dover. I hopped on a train to London and there I am fast asleep in the first class when along comes a guard who tries to turf me off at the next station – no ticket, see. No money.’

  ‘I can’t believe it – how could he do such a thing!’

  ‘Well, fortunately, there was this retired admiral in the same compartment. “You’ll do nothing of the kind, my man,” he says to the guard. “This gallant boy is trying to return to his unit and you should be giving him every assistance.” Plain sailing after that. All tickety-boo. When we got to Charing Cross I took the tube out to Elm Park and finally staggered into the Mess, all footsore and weary. There they were – Whitters and the rest of them, lounging about, feet up – and there’s me standing there with water running off me, sand in my shoes and seaweed round my neck. And do you know what old Whitters says to me?’

  ‘Something nice, I hope.’

  ‘He says: “Bad luck, old man. You’ve just missed dinner.”’

  Felicity burst out laughing. ‘I never know whether to believe you or not.’

  Speedy pretended to be offended. ‘Would I ever lie to you?’

  ‘Probably. But you haven’t told me how you hurt your forehead.’

  ‘Ah, thereby hangs another tale. If you’re very good and sit still, Titania, I’ll tell you. The other day I was screaming along after this 109 . . .’

  From where he was sitting, David Palmer could see the two of them talking together and he watched Button’s hands weaving extravagant patterns in the air, obviously shooting a tremendous line. Section Officer Newman appeared to be falling for every word of it. He drank his whisky and soda reflectively.

  Beside him Robbie Robinson said: ‘Dutton seems to be living up to his reputation all right.’ He sounded amused.

  Palmer shifted sideways in his chair, away from the sight of Section Officer Newman laughing at something Dutton had just said.

  ‘I thought Section Officer Newman had more sense.’

  ‘Oh, I think she’s got plenty of that. I’ve never doubted it for a moment.’

  ‘Hum.’ Palmer raised his glass again. ‘He must be about as hard to shake off as that damned dog of his.’

  The squadron leader puffed comfortably at his pipe. ‘I imagine Felicity is rather fond of the two of them, but she seems to have them both pretty well under control, from what I’ve seen.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Palmer groped for a cigarette and lit it. ‘I still can’t get used to having these women here, you know, Robbie. It still goes against the grain with me. I suppose I’m getting too old a leopard to change my spots.’

  ‘Hardly, sir. It’s understandable. It’s been an added burden for you, having them here – an unknown factor, as it were. But so far I think one can say that it’s working out rather well, don’t you agree? They’re definitely pulling their weight.’

  ‘They seem to do their work well enough, I grant you. I’m not really grumbling so far as that goes. What does concern me, and always has done from the very beginning, is how they’ll measure up if this station comes under enemy attack. When it does, I should say. It’s a virtual certainty now . . . sooner or later. If they panic and have hysterics we’re going to be in serious trouble.’

  ‘I don’t believe they will, sir.’

  ‘So you told me before. I only hope you’re right.’

  Dutton and Section Officer Newman were going. He watched as they left the room together and saw the way she turned to smile at him and the way he touched her arm. He thought of the one occasion when he had invited her to a drink in the Mess. Ordered her, might be a better word. It had been soon after he had conceded defeat and allowed WAAF officers into here. He had escorted her over himself and they had entered the ante-room to startled looks and whispered comments. She had asked for a dry sherry and refused the cigarette he had offered her. The conversation had gone stickily, he remembered. He had asked her what part of Norfolk she came from and they had talked about that briefly. She had mentioned that her father was the rector of the parish. Her mother, he knew, was dead.

  He had said: ‘I’m afraid I’ve never been to Norfolk. One day I really must try and visit all the places I’ve never been to in England. I seem to have spent most of my service life in the south, or in France.’

  ‘Have you been in the RAF long, sir?’

  ‘Twenty years.’

  It must have seemed like a lifetime to he
r. In fact, it was her lifetime – almost. He preferred not to dwell on that thought.

  She had sat upright in the chair, holding her glass stiffly in front of her. He could not recall her smiling, let alone laughing.

  She had asked politely: ‘Do you miss the flying at all, sir?’

  ‘Very much. As a matter of fact, I still manage to get up now and again – tag along with the chaps and make a nuisance of myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not that, sir.’

  More careful politeness. Rigid deference to her commanding officer. He knew he had only himself to blame for the fact that she could not relax in his company. He had tried his best to be jovial, to put her at her ease.

  ‘Flying a modern fighter is a young man’s job, unfortunately. In my day, of course, we had bi-planes – Camels, Pups, that sort of thing. Much slower than the machines these young men are flying today.’

  Young men like Speedy Dutton.

  She had gone on being very polite. ‘But still needing a lot of skill, surely, sir?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. The old crates more or less flew themselves. Have you ever been up at all?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He had said heartily: ‘We’ll have to see what we can do about that.’

  He had thought of taking her up himself, but so far there had been neither the time nor the chance.

  His thoughts switched to Caroline and the last time he had seen her. She had been packing to leave the station, like all the other civilian wives. He had watched as she tossed clothes into the open suitcase on the bed.

  ‘Is it really necessary for you to go back to London, Caroline? It would be perfectly possible to find somewhere reasonably near the station for you to be.’

  She had slammed a drawer shut and moved to the wardrobe. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, David. I’ve no intention of mouldering away in some damp little cottage miles from anywhere. At least there was some sort of life here. Frankly, I think the RAF have a bloody cheek tipping us out.’

  ‘It’s a question of your safety, you know that. All aerodromes in the south are prime targets now for the enemy. It would be irresponsible folly to allow women civilians to remain on them.’