Brave Faces
Page 30
I sat down on the sofa next to him and taking my hand in his he told me his story. As soon as he had arrived back from ops he’d gone straight to the Sick Bay to find me. He’d hoped that I’d be overjoyed to see him so unexpectedly, but I wasn’t there when he arrived, and Fiona must have been busy doing a test because she wasn’t there either, so he then went to look for someone else that might know where I was and bumped into his friend, the young doctor Johnny Marchant, who had put the windsock up to alert him to my arrival before.
‘Looking for your girlfriend Ogilvie? Bad luck, old man, she’s gone off with Horsfell and she’s staying with him in his house in Arbroath,’ his friend had told him. Duncan then said that if he had not been so exhausted he might have realised that his friend was only teasing him, but being so tired, he had taken his friend’s teasing seriously, and felt so angry that he had made his way to the Horsfells without stopping to think it through clearly.
‘Try to imagine my surprise,’ Duncan continued, ‘when the door was opened by a young boy wearing pyjamas and behind him was Commander Flying holding the hand of a little girl. I realised at once that I had made a terrible mistake. Can you ever forgive me for doubting you Mary?’ he said looking down at his feet.
‘Oh, Duncan,’ I cried out putting out both my hands to him ‘of course I forgive you, you silly man.’ As Duncan looked up again, I was relieved to see that he was now grinning at me.
‘Did you know your blouse is askew? And I can see your bosoms!’
‘Duncan!’ I exclaimed, ‘I was in such a hurry to come down and be with you that I didn’t have time to tidy myself, after giving the Sprog his bath.’
He now slowly began to undo the buttons on my shirt, ‘what are you doing Duncan?’ I shrieked, ‘You can’t, not here.’
Duncan smiled, and then did my buttons up correctly for me, ‘There that’s better, everything is shipshape and Bristol fashion again now!’
Tim then came back into the room and asked if Duncan was feeling any better.
‘Yes, thank you Sir. I’m sorry for the intrusion,’ Duncan said, ‘my only excuse is that I feel completely shattered, and I must admit I have been finding it hard to sleep lately.’
Tim recommended that he should report to the Sick Bay to get some help; he knew all about battle fatigue first hand, and assured him that there was no disgrace in asking for help.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ Duncan said.
‘You are always welcome in our house, Ogilvie,’ Tim said kindly, ‘now let me give you both a lift back to base.’
Over the next three days, Duncan and I spent as much time with each other as we could before he went home to his parents for a week to recuperate.
He telephoned the following evening to let me know that he had arrived safely at his parents, and then passed the phone to his mother, who said that I’d be most welcome to stay with them whenever I felt like it, even if Duncan wasn’t there, and that if I found myself alone at Easter I should give them a call and invite myself.
Duncan and I spoke on the phone every other evening, while he was staying with his family, and during our long chats he told me a bit more about his two elder sisters, Janet and Celia. Janet, worked as a dietician in Durham where she lived with her husband, Bertie, and Celia, who was two years younger than her sister, was a teacher whose fiancé had been killed in the Battle of Britain.
Celia had apparently been full of beans before her fiancé had died, but had found life very difficult since then. Having lost Charles I felt that I had some idea of what the poor woman was going through.
I had asked Duncan whether Celia had thought of joining one of the Women’s Armed Services, where she might make new friends, and possibly even meet another man. Duncan sighed and said he doubted that she would ever consider doing that, she loved teaching too much, and all she really wanted was to be around children.
I didn’t get to see Duncan after his leave was over, as he had to go straight back on ‘ops’ with his squadron, but his mother wrote to me and asked me to stay with them for Easter, so I then wrote to my parents to tell them. I asked my mother if she would send my old school walking shoes to HMS Condor for my trip to the Ogilvie’s, as Ruth, Duncan’s mother, had warned me that they liked to go for hearty walks every day.
A huge parcel arrived a week later. My mother had not only sent my shoes but also an afternoon dress, a matching cardigan, and a warm nightdress, and she had inserted a note in one of my shoes, which said that she thought that my Wren’s striped pyjamas would be unsuitable to wear as a house guest in case I was seen by the staff going to the bathroom. My mother was obviously under the impression that Duncan must be from a well-to-do family, so I wrote back to her to thank her for the parcel and added a note at the bottom to tell her that the Ogilvies did not have any live-in servants, so nobody would see me in my pyjamas, but there would be no one to help me unpack either!
Ruth Ogilvie had told me to only bring a small suitcase, as I could borrow one of her daughter’s jackets or coats if it got chilly. I wracked my brains about what to take as a suitable present to thank them for having me to stay and when I looked around the NAAFI shelves, I spotted a box of Lux Soap Flakes, which were almost impossible to come by, and some bars of sweet-smelling soap that were of a much better quality than those available at the chemist. I also bought two bars of chocolate and a packet of biscuits for Duncan’s father, hoping that he might have a sweet tooth like his son.
It was a rather strange assortment of things to give to Duncan’s parents, but I thought that they might appreciate these everyday items to supplement their rations.
I caught the early train to Perth on Good Friday morning. Duncan had already told his family what I looked like, and had told me that his father looked a bit like a Scottish bishop, but never actually having seen a Scottish bishop before, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.
When I arrived in Perth, I got off the train and waited on the busy platform until I saw a rather distinguished gentleman start walking towards me.
‘Mr Ogilvie?’ I asked.
‘Yes that’s me,’ he replied smiling, ‘but please call me John.’
‘You don’t look a bit like a Scottish bishop!’ I said.
‘Well that’s a relief! Was I supposed to?’ John said laughing.
‘Yes!’ I said. ‘Your naughty son told me you looked like a Scottish bishop!’
‘Ah, I will have to have words with young Duncan next time he’s home and not all of them will be the kind that bishop’s use!’ he said giving me a wink.
John then picked up my suitcase, tucked my arm in his, and guided me to his car. He had the same broad smile as Duncan, and I liked him at once.
As we approached a large Victorian house, John explained that they always used the back entrance, because getting to the front door involved a circuitous route that meant driving past the house and then up the road, round a corner and then back down a lane, and then walking up a long garden path to the front door, so it was much easier to come and go through the back door.
John led me through an old-fashioned scullery into their lovely warm kitchen.
‘Hello Mary,’ Duncan’s mother said, smiling at me.
‘Hello Mrs Ogilvie,’ I said politely. ‘Thank you for inviting me to stay.’
‘Please call me Ruth,’ she said, before gently kissing me on the cheek.
She introduced me to her daughter, Janet, whose hair was an even redder than Duncan’s, and then to her husband, Bertie, who kindly picked up my case and took it upstairs for me. As Ruth and I climbed the rather steep staircase, she apologised for having to put me in such a small bedroom. I told her that it was no problem.
She then left me to freshen up, and just as I was about to go back downstairs, Janet popped her head round the door. ‘Mary, I just wanted to tell you how glad we all are that Duncan has found someone special like you.’
‘Thank you, Janet, that means a lot to me,’ I said sincerely.
‘Celia wi
ll be back at teatime, so you will meet her then, but I thought I should forewarn you, in case Duncan hasn’t already told you, that her fiancé was killed during the Battle of Britain,’ Janet then confided, ‘Poor Celia still hasn’t got over it, so if she isn’t too welcoming, don’t worry, it’s not you, it’s her!’
‘I quite understand, as I have been there myself,’ I said quietly.
‘Yes, Duncan did mention that you had, so I thought you’d understand. It is quite dreadful the number of young men that are dying, and all the young sweethearts that have been left grieving, it really is so sad.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, now starting to feel very sad with thoughts of Andrew, Henry and Charles going through my head.
Seeing my discomfort, Janet quickly said, ‘Well, we mustn’t think about all that right now, must we? We’d better go down now and join the others, as Mother has made a special lunch in your honour!’
As we began to eat, I remembered that Duncan had told me that his father was a great supporter of the League of Nations, so I asked him to tell me about it, which made Ruth, Janet and Bertie all laugh out loud. When I asked what was so funny Ruth explained, ‘That’s John’s favourite subject. You’ll never get him to stop once you get him started!’
When I asked Bertie what his work in the Army involved, he told me that before the war he was a journalist, so when he’d been recruited, he had been asked by the government to write public-information slogans. These wartime slogans were now part and parcel of the war effort, of course, because everywhere in town or city, throughout the country, walls were plastered with posters bearing slogans such as ‘Walls have Ears’, ‘Make Do and Mend’ and ‘Your Country Needs You!’
‘Do you have to call Duncan, Sir?’ Janet asked me a little later.
‘Only when we are in uniform,’ I replied.
‘What about when you are out of uniform?’ Bertie laughed. ‘Do you call him Sir Darling or Darling Sir?’
‘Bertie!’ Janet admonished him, as she got up to help her mother clear the table, ‘Stop teasing poor Mary, you are making her blush!’
After lunch, I helped Ruth with the washing up and looked up when I heard someone come through the back door. It was Celia, Duncan’s other sister. She looked exactly like her mother, except that her hair was lighter, and she was a good two inches taller. When she introduced herself, she wasn’t impolite but wasn’t particularly friendly either, and then she excused herself as quickly as she possibly could before going upstairs. I sensed that something was amiss, but remembering what Janet had told me, I tried not to take her rather strange reaction to me personally.
John then suggested that the ‘youngsters’ should go out for a walk to make room for the cakes that Janet had brought with her for tea. I laughed and told him that I’d bought my sensible shoes with me, just as Ruth had suggested.
I went upstairs to put on my shoes, and as I was coming out of my bedroom, I bumped into Celia on the landing. I asked her if she would like to come for a walk with us, and to my surprise, she agreed at once.
We ‘youngsters’ then set off and walked up a steep hill towards the open countryside. We had plenty to chat about as a group, but when Janet and Bertie then went on ahead, I found myself walking side-by-side with Celia, so I decided to take the bull by the horns.
‘I’m sorry to hear that your fiancé was killed,’ I began. ‘I know how you must feel.’
‘How could you possibly know how I feel?’ Celia spat at me.
‘Because someone that I was about to get engaged to died trying to rescue others after an air raid,’ I told her quietly, ‘and for a while I didn’t want to go on living.’
Celia said nothing for several minutes, and then she linked her arm though mine and we walked together in silence for a while, which I suppose was her way of letting me know that we were now friends.
‘The thing is Mary,’ Celia said almost whispering. ‘You are young and pretty and you’ve met Duncan now, so you will be all right, but how am I ever going to find someone that would be interested in me at my age?’
I didn’t know what to say in response, so said nothing and we just continued walking in silence until we caught up with Janet and Bertie.
‘Duncan told me that you can cook, and clean and that you can also speak three languages!’ Janet said laughing, ‘It sounds too good to be true, are you really that perfect?’
‘Of course!’ I replied giggling, ‘but I can’t do them all at once.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Janet laughed. ‘That would be just too much.’
I then confessed that I hated housework and that I feared my cooking skills were still a bit limited.
‘Can I watch you next time you’re baking, so that I can learn a few tips from you?’ I asked her. ‘I still have a lot to learn in that department.’
On the way back, Celia and I walked together again, but this time she was far more talkative and we soon discovered that we both had a common love for children. I asked her whether she enjoyed being a teacher and which age group she preferred to teach, and it was clear that she loved her job and especially enjoyed teaching the younger ones who, she said, were so eager to learn.
While we had been out for our walk, John had lit a fire in the drawing room and Ruth had put out some delicious cakes and scones for us to have with our afternoon tea. Afterwards, I asked Ruth if she had any photographs of Duncan as a young boy. She seemed pleased that I’d asked, and went to dig out a couple of the photo albums.
As we looked at the photos, Janet told me how she and Celia had treated poor Duncan like a doll, and how they had taken it in turns to give him his bath. She then told a funny anecdote about how they would dress their younger brother in a girl’s dress for fun, and that was when they’d discovered that Duncan had quite a temper.
‘It was quite a shock,’ Janet continued, ‘he had been so mild tempered up until then, but I suppose he was just letting us know that he was a wee boy who wanted to play cricket or kick a ball, not be treated like a doll by his bossy sisters!’
Ruth told me that as Duncan got older he became interested in sailing, and insisted on learning to paddle a canoe, and that he also loved going on fishing trips with his cousins, which is where his love of the outdoors really began. I then remembered that I had brought some presents for them, so went upstairs to retrieve them from my room. Ruth clapped her hands with delight when she opened hers, ‘It’s like Christmas all over again!’ I was glad that I had chosen them carefully.
That evening we all sat around the drawing room fire and listened to the nine o’clock news, just as I had done so many times with my own parents. After it finished I asked John if he was worried about Duncan. ‘Yes of course, Mary, and about all of the other young men too,’ he said, ‘but we will just have to put on brave faces, won’t we?’
John took us all to the theatre on the Saturday evening to see the Perth Repertory Company, and then on Easter morning everyone walked to church except Janet, who stayed home to cook lunch. It was a lovely weekend and I really enjoyed meeting Duncan’s family. I just wished that he had been there too.
On Monday morning, John drove me to the station to catch my train back to Arbroath, and, as he lifted my case out of the boot, he told me how much they’d enjoyed my visit, and that I could invite myself to stay any time I had leave.
‘That would be lovely, if it’s not going to make too much extra work for Ruth,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry about my darling wife,’ John assured me, chuckling, ‘she has always been a busy bee and loves nothing better than to spoil our guests.’
‘Well, it’s funny that you should say that,’ I replied, laughing. ‘I had noticed that she hardly ever sits still for a moment and is always buzzing around doing something, so I have given her the nickname ‘Bumble’!’
‘Perfect! You must call her that the next time you come and stay, she will love it!’ John said, roaring with laughter. ‘And what about me, Mary, have I got a nickname too?’
‘Father John?’ he queried, ‘I thought I was supposed to look like a Scottish bishop? Not only have you demoted me, but you’ve changed my religion too!’
I put my arms around him and gave him a big hug, ‘As you are Duncan’s father, John, I want you to be my Father John too.’
When I arrived back at The Grange, I unpacked my case and took out the framed photograph of Duncan that Ruth had given me, and put it on the locker next to my bed. As I looked at Duncan’s portrait, I felt a great wave of love for this special man in a way that I had never experienced before, even with Charles. I couldn’t work out why or put any particular logic to this feeling, I just ‘knew’ that this was the right man for me.
During Sunday lunch the following weekend, Tim Horsfell told me that I could join his ATC cadets on their first trial flight, which would take place one day that week. ‘I’ve managed to borrow the smallest cadet uniform available and a cap, but to look like a boy I’m afraid you’re going to have to cut off all your curls.’ He grinned and then added with a cheeky grin, nodding in the direction of my bosoms, ‘And I’ll see whether I can get hold of a flying jacket for you on the day to cover, err, to cover… the rest of you.’ Barbara caught my eye, and we both laughed.
Tim warned me that I’d probably find the initial flight rather boring; explaining that I would be sitting in a specially adapted Anson bomber in seats similar to those fitted in private passenger planes. This, he explained, was in order to give trainee cadets an idea of what it felt like to be in the air, as most of them would have never flown before.
He then explained that I would have to change into my cadet’s uniform somewhere where I wouldn’t be noticed, such as in the ladies’ lavatory, and that I should wear my navy blue Wren’s mackintosh over the top to disguise what I was wearing and that I must wear my Wren’s hat until I was safely standing inside number three hangar. Only once I was inside should I then swap my hat for the ATC cap, and exchange my mackintosh for my flying jacket.