The Spitfire Sisters

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘But I thought you’d volunteered to be an air-raid warden in our district. That’s what Pips told me.’

  ‘True, I have, but that’s not going to be enough for either me or Jeff.’

  George was thoughtful before he said slowly, ‘There are one or two people I could put you in touch with – probably through Rebecca’s husband, Matthew.’

  Mitch smiled. ‘I’d be very grateful, but there is also something else.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Pips.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m breaking her confidence here, but I don’t think so. You’re bound to find out sooner or later anyway.’

  ‘Go on.’ Again George was tight-lipped. Was this something Pips had shared with Mitch and not with him?

  ‘If – no doubt I should say when – we get bombing here in London, Pips intends to drive an ambulance.’

  George gave an inward sigh of relief as he said, ‘Yes, I do know about that. She’s already approached Rebecca to introduce her to the authorities. The Red Cross, I think.’

  ‘And – er – are you happy about that?’

  ‘Of course not, but I can’t think what to do to stop her.’

  ‘Isn’t there someone amongst your contacts who could find her some work – preferably somewhere out of London? I mean, surely the authorities are moving top secret stuff out of the city. She’s a very clever woman. She’d be very good in that sort of work.’

  George stared at Mitch. ‘Now that is a very good suggestion. Thank you.’

  A little later Mitch met up with Jeff.

  ‘And did he buy it?’ Jeff asked. ‘All that stuff about you and me wanting to be put in touch with some of his contacts?’

  ‘I think so. He didn’t seem to suspect that we might already have all the contacts we need, but I had to ask him for help for myself – or rather us – so that I could then bring the conversation round to Pips.’

  ‘And did you mention Bletchley Park?’

  Mitch shook his head. ‘No, only very indirectly. I just said that the authorities must be moving secret stuff out of London and that she might be able to help in that sort of work.’

  ‘You devious bugger, Mitch! You really ought to be a spy.’

  Mitch grinned. ‘We might very well end up being just that, Jeff.’ Then he sobered. ‘I just hope my subterfuge works and he gets her out of London.’

  ‘I think we’re a bit long in the tooth for the spying malarkey,’ Jeff said. ‘Not physically agile enough now, but I think we can still make ourselves useful. But we’re just going to have to be patient until things really start to hot up, then they’ll be wanting the services of a couple of reprobates like us.’

  Despite Mitch’s protestations to the contrary, George was worried. He wanted to get Pips out of London, away from the bombing and – if he was perfectly honest with himself and he usually was – away from Mitch Hammond. Mitch was going to be living in the city almost permanently now and, as an air-raid warden, he would be patrolling the area that included the block of apartments where George and Pips lived. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Pips; he knew she would not be unfaithful to him and the fact that he actually liked Mitch made matters worse. He’d tried to dislike him, but he couldn’t. He admired the man, but that didn’t mean he liked the idea of Mitch dropping in to see Pips any time he liked for a cup of tea and a cosy chat. And now, Mitch had confirmed that Pips was serious about volunteering to drive an ambulance anywhere in London! He had to get her away. But where? And how? She wouldn’t agree to go home to Lincolnshire; he’d tried that. She wanted to be useful. She needed to be useful in this war just like she had been in the last one. But his meeting with Mitch had put an idea into his head.

  In his work at the War Office, George encountered a great many visitors to the department. He heard the whispers and the gossip and he was in a good position to sound out his colleagues for advice. And so, when he heard that the Government Code and Cypher School had been set up at Bletchley Park, he realized at once that this was what Pips could do, though he knew he would have to tread carefully. Somehow, he would have to let Pips come to the decision herself, but first he got in touch with one of the men who recruited people for the GC&CS at the Foreign Office. Because he worked at the War Office, and with Matthew’s help too, George was able to obtain an appointment quite quickly. Sitting down in front of the tall, thin man with receding hair but sharp, intelligent eyes, he came straight to the point.

  ‘My wife is an extremely clever woman and I think she would be an ideal candidate for Bletchley Park.’

  ‘Really?’ Michael Duncan sounded sceptical and George hid his smile.

  ‘Of course, you would expect me to say that,’ he said mildly and the man looked slightly sheepish. ‘She and her brother are excellent chess players and they vie with each other to do the Telegraph’s crossword puzzles.’ He paused for effect and added, almost casually, ‘I think Pips’s fastest time has been twelve minutes.’

  ‘Twelve minutes! Good God – I can only manage fifteen.’

  George smiled and inclined his head. ‘I can’t even get that close.’

  Mr Duncan was thoughtful. ‘Ask her to come and see me.’

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather she didn’t know I was involved.’

  The man raised his eyebrows as George leaned forward. ‘She drove an ambulance at the front in the last war and wants to drive again here – in London – in the bombing, because we’re bound to get some sooner or later. I’ll be blunt – I don’t want her to and, besides, with her talents I think she could be of much more use at somewhere like Bletchley.’ He held his breath whilst the man opposite him was deep in thought for a few moments.

  ‘Then I’ll write to her – I’ll just say that her name has come to my attention.’ Mr Duncan smiled and his eyes twinkled over his spectacles. ‘In my job, I don’t have to say where my information comes from.’

  George stood up and held out his hand. ‘I’m extremely grateful.’

  ‘Just leave your address with my secretary and your wife will receive a letter by the end of the week.’

  ‘George, do you know anything about this?’

  ‘What’s that, my darling?’

  ‘This letter from someone called Michael Duncan. He wants to see me at the Foreign Office. D’you know who he is and what it’s about?’

  George had rehearsed in his mind how to handle this very question when the letter arrived.

  ‘Let me see.’ He held out his hand for the letter. ‘I’ve heard of him,’ he said slowly as he read it, tacitly implying that he hadn’t met him without actually lying. ‘What does he do?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure. Some sort of recruitment for war work, I think, but how did he get hold of my name?’

  ‘That, I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Can’t – or won’t, George?’

  He smiled as he handed back the letter. ‘Can’t, darling.’

  Pips frowned and muttered a sceptical, ‘Mm, that probably amounts to the same thing.’ She glanced down at the letter again and murmured, ‘But I’ll go and see him. It might be something interesting.’

  Twenty-Four

  ‘You know, you’re all putting me to shame,’ Edwin said at dinner one evening towards the end of October. He smiled benignly round the table at his family, peering over his spectacles at them, his eyes full of mischief. He was so proud of them all for their different contributions to life at the hall and in the village, not only in ordinary times, but now in war time they were all ‘doing their bit’, as the newspapers were exhorting everyone to do. Edwin still sported his colourful waistcoats that had been a source of amusement for his patients during his days as the local GP. ‘My attire amuses the children and makes the old ladies smile,’ he had always said. He had changed little over the years; he was still a little portly but was just as mild-mannered and kindly as he’d ever been. ‘I feel I should do something,’ he added.

  ‘My dear, you’re almost eighty
,’ Henrietta said. ‘I don’t want you overdoing it and making yourself ill.’

  ‘What about you, Hetty, my love? You’re seventy-five and yet, here you are, as energetic and involved as ever. I’m still fit and healthy, there must be something I can do.’

  ‘I’m sure there will be, my dear,’ Henrietta said, ‘but it’s early days yet. We’re still in what everyone’s calling the “phoney war”. At the moment, the only things we can do are to house the evacuees and to make sure we’re “digging for victory”, as they’re asking us.’

  ‘And are all the children happily settled?’

  ‘I don’t know about “happily”, Edwin, but everyone is doing their best to care for them and to make them feel wanted – at least in our village anyway.’

  Edwin chuckled. ‘Woe betide anyone who didn’t on your watch, Hetty.’

  ‘Poor little scraps,’ Alice said. ‘Florence was telling me that those little twin girls she took home with her were covered in head lice and she’s had to buy new clothes for them. They didn’t look so bad at first, but underneath their coats, they were virtually in rags.’

  ‘Ah, well done, Alice, my dear. You’ve given me an idea,’ Edwin said. ‘That is something I could do.’

  All eyes turned towards him as he smiled. ‘I could visit all the homes where the children have been placed and give them a medical and see if there’s anything they need. Would that be all right with you, Robert?’

  ‘It would be ideal, Father. Conrad and I are both rather stretched at the moment. Now we’re almost into November, we’re starting to get the usual winter ills affecting the young and the very old and there’s no knowing what infections will have come in with the evacuee children. Meaning no disrespect to them, poor things, but it’s inevitable.’

  Edwin beamed and nodded. ‘I will keep you informed of anything I think you need to know and I’ll ask Jake if he can drive me around when you’re not using the car.’

  ‘Jake is increasingly busy with the grounds,’ Henrietta put in. ‘Perhaps we should employ a driver for you and Robert now.’

  ‘That’s a very good idea, Hetty, my love. Leave that with me.’

  ‘So now,’ Alice said happily, ‘we’re all usefully employed in the war effort.’

  ‘I’ve got an interview at the Foreign Office late this afternoon. Do you think Matthew has had something to do with this?’

  ‘Darling, I really couldn’t say.’

  Pips arched her eyebrows quizzically, but said no more. Later that day, she made her way to the Foreign Office and was shown into Michael Duncan’s office.

  ‘Please sit down, Mrs Allender. It’s good of you to come.’

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ Pips said, smiling.

  The man rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. ‘These interviews are very difficult because I am not allowed to tell you very much. All I can say is that you will be engaged on extremely important war work, but you can tell no one anything about it. You can’t even tell your family where you will be. They can, however, write to you here, care of the Foreign Office.’

  ‘Will I be in this country?’

  ‘Yes, and not all that far away, actually. You would get leave now and again and you would be able to go home, but because you will have to sign the Official Secrets Act, you can tell no one – absolutely no one – anything about the work you’d be doing.’ He was repeating the same statement and this, more than anything, emphasized the nature of the work. Now Pips really was fascinated.

  ‘Can I tell my husband? He works at the War Office. He knows how to keep secrets.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  She was silent for a moment before saying, ‘Well, I would like to be considered for – whatever it is.’

  ‘Then I would like you to do this crossword for me and I will time you. It’s the sort that appears in the Daily Telegraph, although it’s not one you will have seen before.’

  Pips smiled inwardly as she took the newspaper and the pen he handed to her. As she bent her head and began to concentrate, she was aware that Michael Duncan had glanced at his watch to note the time. She worked swiftly and quietly as the minutes ticked by. When at last she looked up and laid the completed puzzle in front of him, he again looked at his watch.

  ‘Thirteen and a half minutes, Mrs Allender. Well done.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to check my answers?’

  He chuckled. ‘I can see that you have completed the grid. It’s unlikely to be incorrect if all the words fit with each other. Now, one last thing. Do you play chess?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then,’ he rose from his chair behind his desk and crossed to a small table near the window where a chessboard had been set up, ‘may I challenge you to a game?’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ Pips said and followed him across the room.

  ‘You be black,’ Michael said, as they sat down opposite each other. Pips hid her smile, wondering if this was a deliberate ploy on his part. They began to play and, after moving twice, Pips said, ‘Checkmate.’

  She glanced up to see Michael smiling broadly. He said, ‘Fool’s mate. Well done.’

  ‘You gave me the opening to do that, didn’t you?’

  ‘Indeed I did and I was not disappointed.’ He stood up and held out his hand.

  ‘Welcome aboard, Mrs Allender. You will receive instructions within a few days, but we’ll let you have Christmas with your family and start you in January. But remember, not a word to anyone, not even your nearest and dearest.’

  She took his hand and shook it warmly. ‘I understand.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m sure you don’t – yet. But you will.’

  That first Christmas of the war was a strange one for everyone throughout the country, though perhaps in Doddington it was the nearest to normal that they could make it – except that they had evacuee children in their midst. Several children had already been taken back home by their mothers when the anticipated bombing did not occur, despite Mrs Maitland’s advice that they should stay in the countryside. But many still remained and it was for these children that the villagers tried to make Christmas extra special. Henrietta held her usual Boxing Day party, but with a difference. Now the Great Hall rang with the shouts and laughter of overexcited youngsters.

  ‘You’re running the risk of your precious china being broken, Mrs Maitland.’ Bess cast her eyes around the cabinets which held china and glassware that had been handed down the generations.

  ‘If Hitler sends his bombs this far, Mrs Cooper, they’ll do far more damage than a few boisterous children can. It’s good to see them enjoying themselves, when I expect they’re missing their own families.’

  ‘All your family’s here,’ Bess said, ‘even Miss Pips and Mr George, but I don’t see Dr Maitland.’

  ‘Ah, Edwin has a very special part to play.’ Henrietta’s eyes twinkled. ‘You’ll see, Mrs Cooper.’

  ‘Aye, well, they certainly look like they’re having fun. In fact, I think we all are.’ Then she chuckled. ‘Except Len over there.’

  They glanced across the room to where Len was standing with a glass in his hand, but a frown on his face.

  Henrietta glanced around the room. ‘There is one young man who doesn’t seem to want to join in.’

  Bess followed her glance. ‘Aye. He’s the lad staying with our Peggy and Sam. Bernard. He’s a bit older than the rest. Maybe he thinks these games are a little beneath him.’

  Henrietta chuckled. ‘Well, they’re not beneath my daughter and granddaughter. Oh look, they’re starting a conga. Let’s get out of the way, Mrs Cooper. I don’t want to get caught up in that.’

  The music from the gramophone blared loudly and Len’s frown deepened. He sidled towards the door, and as he did so, he passed in front of the young boy.

  ‘Bit rowdy for my taste,’ he muttered. ‘But aren’t you joining in?’

  The boy shook his head. ‘Nah. I’d sooner be outside.’

  Len glanced at him. ‘In this weat
her?’

  The boy nodded. ‘I’m used to it.’ He nodded towards the roaring fire in the huge fireplace. ‘We don’t have fires like that where I come from.’

  ‘And where is that?’

  ‘Leeds, mister.’ The boy paused and then said, ‘You’re the feller that has the blacksmith’s and that, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘I’ve been to watch Mr Nuttall once or twice. I’m staying with them. I reckon that’s the sort of work I’d like to do when I leave school.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘I like it here in the countryside. Didn’t think I would, but I do.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twelve, nearly thirteen.’

  ‘Aye, well, I started work when I was that age. What’s your name?’

  ‘Bernard Smiff.’

  For a moment, Len was very still. Then, in a husky voice, he said, ‘You’re welcome to come and watch us at the workshop any time you want.’

  Just before the party was due to end, Henrietta clapped her hands and, after a moment or two, the children fell silent, staring at her with round eyes. Were they in trouble? But all the lady of the big house said was, ‘I hope you’ve all had a lovely time.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs,’ they chorused.

  ‘Good. Now, just before you go, I have a special surprise. Harry – where are you?’ She glanced around and spotted him. ‘Come and stand by me, please.’ Harry, a little embarrassed, moved towards her. He guessed what was about to happen. ‘Daisy, will you and Pips turn the lights off?’

  There were a few murmurs amongst some of the little ones, but Alice and Florence soon calmed them. ‘Wait and see,’ they whispered. The door at the far end of the hall opened and Kitty, Sarah and Mrs Warren entered the room, each bearing a big cake with candles. There were ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from all the children.

  ‘Now, we need to sing Happy Birthday to Harry. He was born here in this house on Boxing Day eighteen years ago.’