Brave Faces

by Mary Arden

  ‘And make sure you are wearing no make-up!’

  As Violet, one of the Wrens at my billet, had been a hairdresser before the war, I asked her to restyle my hair. ‘Please cut my hair short, as I’m fed up with looking like Shirley Temple.’ She wasn’t happy about cutting off my lovely blond curls, but, fortunately didn’t ask any awkward questions and did a good job.

  To my relief, my short hair didn’t look as peculiar as I had feared, although I now looked a bit like my brother Peter, when he was younger.

  On the day of the flight, having done everything, exactly as Tim had instructed me to do, I waited in the queue like all the other fifteen ATC cadets ready to climb the steep steps up to the converted bomber. None of the young cadets took a blind bit of notice of me, and when we were all inside the plane, Tim went from cadet to cadet checking that we were all strapped in safely, carefully avoiding eye contact with me.

  We were then given a leaflet to show how the instruments in the cockpit were arranged, and each instrument was marked with an arrow, number, or both, with a typed explanation of what it was used for at the bottom of the leaflet.

  As the plane began to taxi along the runway, I noticed that one of the boys on the other side of the gangway had closed his eyes. He must be feeling nervous, I thought. I felt the exact opposite and was very excited. Tim began to explain how the wind affects the aircraft and why they used different runways depending on the direction of the wind. He told us all to sit back, relax and enjoy the flight and not to worry if the engines sounded a bit noisy, like really loud farts, which made the boys laugh. I grinned, thinking how my brother William would have enjoyed Tim’s schoolboy humour.

  There were a lot of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’, as the aircraft skimmed the trees after take off; no doubt the pilot was flying as low as possible to give us a thrill. Through the window I could see that we were now in cloud, and I thought how incredible it was that such a heavy piece of machinery could stay up in the air. As the clouds got heavier it became impossible to see anything at all, and I just prayed that the pilot could see a bit more than I could out of my window.

  Soon we were out of the clouds, and I could see bright blue sky. Tim then announced that starting from the front of the aircraft, two cadets at a time would sit in the cockpit with the pilot to see how the plane was flown. One of the cadets in front of me was sick when he tried to stand up. Tim was right when he had told me that this exercise would separate the sheep from the goats.

  Tim had told me that I had to wait until last, as by then all the other boys would be busy chatting about their experience in the cockpit with each other, so wouldn’t notice me. When at last, Tim motioned for me to come forward, I got up and walked to the cockpit, ‘Come on, hurry up young man, we haven’t got all day!’ Tim barked, and I had to look straight down at my feet to avoid eye contact with him, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself getting the giggles.

  When I entered the cockpit, the pilot told me to sit in the co-pilot’s seat. It took me straight back to the time I had tried to join the Wrens as a driver but had been unable to reach the control peddles of the lorry with such short legs. It was just the same now, so if I were ever allowed to fly a plane like this, I would need to have a cushion behind my back and another under my bottom.

  The pilot pointed out the artificial horizon and explained its importance to me. He then showed me the air-pressure gauge and the fuel-indicator, explaining that when it showed that the fuel was getting low the pilot had two choices. When he asked me if I knew what these choices were, I shook my head.

  ‘Land or crash!’ he said smiling. I wondered whether he was trying to frighten me on purpose, but decided that he most probably said the same to all the cadets, to test them. It didn’t take long for me to realise that flying a plane was much more complicated than I had thought. As the pilot began the descent, it felt as if we were dropping out of the sky, and my tummy leapt into my throat. I watched wide-eyed as we hurtled at great speed towards the ground.

  After we landed, we all made our way back to the hangar and Tim ignored me as I walked past him, not wanting to give the game away, but I caught up with him a few days later at his house, and he asked me then if I’d enjoyed my flying experience, so I told him that I had loved it all except for the landing, which felt like riding a bolting carthorse bareback.

  ‘Do you think it would be possible for me to go up in a smaller plane next time, to see how that feels?’ I begged him. Tim said that he’d already decided to take me up in a Walrus, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, which it did a few days later.

  Disguised in a flying jacket and helmet, I met Tim on the airfield, and then once I was strapped in, the plane seemed to waddle down the runway like a pregnant duck before finally taking off. The next time Tim took me flying, it was in a Swordfish, nicknamed by the pilots as the ‘Stringbag.’ It was a thrill to sit in one of the planes that I knew Duncan had flown.

  Tim and I then met three times a week over the next month to continue my private flying lessons, until he felt that I was familiar enough with the controls to fly solo. When I eventually had that opportunity, he said that his hand would always be poised ready to take over if necessary. I loved every minute. The only thing he wasn’t prepared for me to do was take off and land on my own, just in case I pranged one of the precious planes! Officially, of course, I shouldn’t have been allowed to fly at all, and if anything had gone wrong, Tim would have had a lot of explaining to do. Fortunately, it never came to that.

  I was just considering having some civilian flying lessons, so that I could fly ‘legally, when I received a telephone call from Daddy-T. He wanted me to go to another airbase called HMS Jackdaw, as soon as possible for six weeks.

  The first thing I did on hearing my new orders was to go to the Billeting Officer to ask permission to leave most of my civilian clothes and my bicycle at Letham Grange. I then went to the Transport Department to ask advice about how to get to HMS Jackdaw, which I discovered was in Crail, near Dundee.

  I told the Transport Officer that I had no idea how to organise the journey there, so after waiting for a few minutes, another of the Transport Officers came to look at the map and assured me that Crail was easily reached either by train or bus, and told me that when I was ready to leave not to forget to collect the necessary warrants. He also reminded me to go to the Pay Office to make arrangements for my pay to be sent to Jackdaw instead of Condor.

  I was concerned about leaving Fiona to cope on her own, but she told me that Daddy-T had thought that as I’d be away for such a short time, there was little point in sending a replacement and after all, she had managed on her own before I’d arrived.

  The Billeting Officer came to see me in the Sick Bay the next day to tell me that she’d been in touch with her counterpart at Jackdaw about my accommodation.

  ‘I’m sorry, but you will have to sleep in a Nissen hut at Jackdaw, as that’s the only accommodation available, so, you’ll just have put up with it.’

  HMS Jackdaw was one of the first major Fleet Air Arm training airfields in Britain, and also the main Torpedo training school. When I arrived, I also discovered that it had a dummy runway, which was set up as a flight deck for pilots to practise landing on carriers.

  My main duty, the first week I was there, was to give NV tests to a few senior pilots who still hadn’t taken it, and some of them rather resented having to do it.

  On my second week, I was sent a group of multi-national pilots from European countries such as Poland, Holland and France. It was quite hard to explain about rods and cells to them initially, but between my schoolgirl French and miming and the willingness of a friendly Frenchman to help translate to the others, we muddled through and there were a few laughs along the way.

  It soon became apparent that the Chief SBA did not take kindly to foreigners, and he complained endlessly that he couldn’t understand what they were saying. On one occasion, after he’d repeated this phrase for the umpteenth
time, I said to him sharply, ‘You do you realise that these brave men are risking their lives just as much as our chaps, don’t you Chief?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ he conceded reluctantly, ‘but they are still bloody foreigners,’ I heard him muttering as he wandered off.

  A week later, I received a letter from a lady called Miss Marjorie Henderson, who explained that she had worked with my father at the War Office in London at the beginning of the war, but had since retired and moved home to Dundee.

  Apparently, she had recently received a letter from my father, asking her if she’d kindly invite me to her home, as he was worried that I might be a bit lonely. The invitation was to come for tea the following Saturday and she had enclosed a hand-drawn map of how to get to her house.

  I asked a young SBA if he knew of any Liberty transport that I could take to get me to and from Dundee at the weekend, which would save me having to pay for a train ticket. He told me that there was Naval Transport available every hour on Saturdays and that the last one back left Dundee at seven o’clock, so if I was going to be late, I would have to get the train and then walk back to the base.

  Later that evening I wrote back to Miss Henderson to accept her invitation, and then rang my parents to tell them what I was up to. My father told me that Marjorie was a very clever woman who had taught at the university before the war, so he thought I would find her very interesting. When I spoke to my mother, she was pleased to hear that I was staying in touch with Duncan’s family, and happy to know I had done so without her having to remind me to do it.

  On Saturday morning, I waited at the designated spot for the liberty lorry to take me into Dundee, and after it had dropped me off near a bus stop, I caught a Number Two bus, which took me within walking distance of Miss Henderson’s house, which I soon discovered was a four-story building in a lovely leafy street.

  I rang the bell and a moment later, Miss Henderson opened the door, took my hand with a smile and invited me inside. As she led me into the drawing room, I noticed that the walls were lined with beautiful books, many of which were leather bound, and that some of the decorative china displayed neatly in a cabinet came from Dresden.

  Miss Henderson told me, in a soft lilting Scottish accent, to call her Marjorie and said that she was delighted to welcome me into her home, saying how lovely it was to have someone young to talk to for a change. She invited me to take off my uniform jacket and then handed, me a bright red cardigan that she suggested I put on if I felt chilly. Marjorie then excused herself to put on the kettle, returning soon after with the tea things and the most delicious-looking homemade cake I had ever seen. When I asked her if she had used up all her food coupons just to feed to me, she laughed and told me that she enjoyed baking, but only did so when she had guests and that she hadn’t had any visitors for ages.

  We chatted happily together all afternoon, mostly about the books we both enjoyed reading, and when it was time to say goodbye I gave her a hug and felt as if I had known her forever. She suggested that, as we’d got on so well, maybe I’d like to meet her in Dundee the following Saturday, and she could tell me about the history of the docks. When we met up, she told me that she loved coming down to the port, so that she could pretend that the ships in dock were those that her grandmother would have seen, clippers with billowing sails and wooden prows, which brought in spices and other strange produce from far-away places. It was obvious that Marjorie not only knew her local history, but was also a hopeless romantic.

  The following Saturday, when I arrived at her house for lunch, I could sense that something was troubling Marjorie, as she wasn’t her usual chatty self. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me that she had lost her watch, which was very special to her, as her fiancé, who had been killed in the First World War, had given it to her.

  Then something very strange happened. I suddenly had an urge to climb up the little steps, which were leaning against the bookcase, but I couldn’t work out why. This odd feeling persisted for the rest of the afternoon and I kept looking from the steps to the books on the top shelf. Marjorie must have noticed me doing this and asked me if there was a particular book that I had seen that I would like to borrow.

  ‘No, it’s not a book, Marjorie,’ I confessed, feeling rather self-conscious. ‘It’s more of an impulse feeling that there is something else up there that I am supposed to see, if that makes any sense?’

  ‘Well, let’s have a look then, dear,’ Marjorie said. ‘Personally, I always obey impulses, as there’s usually a very good reason for them.’

  I watched, as Marjorie set up the steps and then held onto them while she climbed up. When she got to the top she looked left and right, and then suddenly she let out a squeal of delight.

  ‘So that’s where I put it!’ she exclaimed, as she climbed down the steps holding a small, gold watch in her hand. She handed it to me to have a closer look, and I saw that it was decorated with diamonds and sapphires around the face.

  ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to have found it,’ Marjorie said, beaming, ‘I’ve been hunting everywhere for it.’ She now took my hand in hers and fixed me with her piercing blue eyes. ‘I think you may have the gift, Mary. I thought so, the moment I met you, but couldn’t be sure at first, but I am now.’

  ‘What do you mean, the gift?’ I asked, not quite sure what she meant.

  ‘You sense things don’t you, Mary?’ she asked, ‘It’s just too much of a coincidence that I should suddenly find it like that just after you had felt that there was something up there that we needed to see,’ she continued, ‘I must have put it there when I was dusting the shelves and then forgotten all about it, but I wouldn’t have looked up there if it hadn’t been for you.’

  I told her that it was very possible that I’d picked up on her worried thoughts, and explained that usually I only sensed this type of thing when I was with somebody who was stressed or upset.

  ‘Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen when there’s a big horse race, but I wish it did, as then I would be very rich!’

  I received a phone call from Daddy-T the next day telling me that he now wanted me to go back to HMS Condor to take over while Fiona had some leave, and after that, he would be posting me to HMS Landrail in Machrihanish on the West coast of Scotland.

  ‘I understand that you’ve been doing a very good job at Jackdaw, but it’s time for your next posting.’

  After I’d been back at HMS Condor for a few days it felt as if I’d never been away. I was thankful to be sleeping in a comfortable bed once again, after putting up with the rather hard one in the Nissen hut at Jackdaw. I thoroughly enjoyed catching up on all the gossip with my roommates, however, I was upset that there wouldn’t be time to do any more flying lessons, and I also felt sad that I’d have to say goodbye to everyone, especially the Horsfells.

  The day that Fiona got back from leave, Daddy-T rang to tell me that it was time to find my way to HMS Landrail. ‘Mary, dear,’ Daddy-T boomed down the telephone, ‘I need you to get on your bicycle, so to speak, and get yourself to the furthest point of the West Coast of Scotland. You’ll be helping another Wren with the NV tests, as usual, but one of the doctors has requested a Wren to help him do some experimental tests he’s carrying out, so I thought of you. He’s doing some research into the altitude pilots can reach without the aid of oxygen. The doctor’s name is Graham du Caine. He’s a Canadian, and a decent sort. I think you’ll like him, as he’s very easy to get on with. He’ll explain exactly what he wants you to do, but I think it could be interesting for you.’

  ‘Thank you for thinking of me, Sir,’ I replied.

  ‘Now remember, Mary, don’t talk to any strangers on the way,’ he chuckled.

  I almost replied, ‘Yes Daddy,’ but remembered just in time that he was a Senior Officer now as well as my boss, so I’d better show some respect.

  ‘Yes, Sir, goodbye then Sir, I will let you know when I arrive.’

  After work the next evening, I went to see the Transport Off
icer to ask him for a warrant to get to Machrihanish, and when I admitted that I had no idea where it was, he smiled and said that he hadn’t a clue either. He then produced a map from under his table, and as he pointed to a small peninsular jutting off mainland Scotland he said, ‘Oh goodness me, lassie, it’s at the end of the world!’

  CHAPTER 12

  1944

  When I arrived at Glasgow railway station, I asked an elderly porter if he could help me get my bicycle out of the guard’s van and take it to the right platform for my next train to Arrochar & Tarbert.

  ‘I’m sorry Miss, but you’ve missed your connection. The next train will be at least an hour and it will leave from Platform Six,’ he said.

  ‘Oh that is a bore,’ I exclaimed. ‘Is there somewhere I can leave my things while I go and get a cup of tea and a sandwich?’ I asked him.

  ‘I would be happy to take your things to left luggage for you miss, if you like, and then I’ll bring them to you at Platform Six, a quarter of an hour before your departure.’ The old man then carefully checked my luggage labels, before adding, ‘make sure that you listen out for announcements in case there are any changes to your departure time or platform, and I’ll do the same.’

  I went to the station cafe to buy myself a cup of tea and a sandwich and while I was there decided that it might be wise to buy another sandwich for later on, in case I didn’t get another chance between here and my destination. When I got back to Platform Six, I found the old porter waiting there for me with my things.

  ‘You have nearly a quarter of an hour before the train leaves Miss,’ he reassured me, ‘And if I were you I’d choose a carriage with another lady in it if you can.’ I was about to ask why when I saw a crowd of noisy soldiers walking towards us.

  ‘Leave it to me, Miss,’ the kind porter said. After he had put my bicycle into the guard’s van, he beckoned me to follow him down the length of the train, while he looked for a suitable carriage for me. When he found one that he was happy with, he opened the door and said, ‘You’ll be safe in here, Miss,’ I thanked him for his help and gave him a generous tip, which he accepted with a smile. I then climbed on board, and as I took my seat, I said hello to the woman sitting opposite me, who smiled and told me that the two young children in our carriage belonged to her.