by Lorna Peel
“You just don’t know what it’s like. People making jokes and comments all the time, not giving me jobs. You should have heard Mr Graham when I told him.”
“He’s an idiot, like me. I’m so sorry if I hurt you,” he whispered.
“I know you’re worried, Charlie, but I honestly don’t know anything. Ask Bob.”
“It’s no excuse for what I said. I wanted today to be a happy one.”
“It still can be.” Reaching into his tunic’s inside pocket, she pulled out his wallet and went through it. Holding up a little package, she pointed across the field to a barn. “Shall we make it a happy afternoon? As long as you carry me across the muddy field as a punishment?”
“A punishment?” He smiled. “You say the nicest things.” His smile broadened and they got out of the car.
Straw was scattered across the floor of the barn, empty except for a battered table and three chairs which stood in a corner, very out of place in a building used to store animal feed. Charlie went to the table, undoing his tunic, and put his cap down on it.
Kate put her cap beside it before pulling out a chair and hanging her tunic on it. She undid her shirt, sliding it off her shoulders, and placing it on top of the tunic. Unbuttoning her skirt, she stepped out of it and draped it over the shirt. Slipping off her knickers, she then put a foot up on the chair and reached for her suspenders.
“Don’t take your stockings off,” he told her.
“But they’re horrible.”
“Not on you.”
“So, Charlie Butler likes thick WAAF stockings, eh?” she teased, unbuttoning his trouser buttons, while he set to work on his tie and shirt. “Oh, you really do like thick WAAF stockings,” she added as her hands brushed his erection.
She pushed his trousers and underpants down over his hips and he shrugged out of both his tunic and shirt before reaching for his wallet. He pulled the condom out of the wallet and tore open the envelope.
“Can I?” she asked, taking it from him, suddenly wanting to touch him, and she lifted his erection and rolled the protection on.
“Sit on me,” he whispered, sitting down on the chair, pulling his shoes, trousers, and underpants off.
After a moment’s uncertainty, she straddled him, lowering herself onto him with a little moan. He felt huge inside her, but it didn’t hurt one bit.
“All right?” he asked, and she moaned again. “Can your feet touch the floor?”
She wriggled and placed her feet on the floor. “Yes.”
“I need you to ride me,” he gasped. “Now, Kate.”
She put her hands on his shoulders, raising herself up a little, before sinking down again. “Like that?” He groaned so she repeated it, his face sitting between her breasts as she lifted herself up. He groaned again and she closed her eyes, increasing her rhythm, bouncing up and down on him. He was rubbing against parts of her she never knew existed, driving her pleasure higher, when there was a loud crack and the chair collapsed.
Chapter Eight
Charlie found himself flat on his back amongst the remains of the chair with Kate’s breasts resting nicely in his face. They laughed and she climbed off him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I think I’ve got splinters where I’ve never had splinters before.”
“Shall I have a look?”
“Later.”
He followed her as she got to her feet, picking their uniforms up from the floor and putting them on the table. She looked incredible in her bra and blue stockings and he lifted her onto the table and reached around, unhooking her bra. He eased it down her arms and dropped it on their pile of clothes, before taking her breasts in his hands and licking her nipples.
“You love my breasts, don’t you?” She opened her legs, and he stepped forward.
“I love all of you.”
He lifted his erection and entered her, thrusting and watching as her breasts bounced up and down. When the table began to creak, he lifted then set her down in a pile of straw in the opposite corner and began to thrust again, feeling his orgasm building. He tried to fight it but Kate was arching her back, her nipples rubbing against his chest, and he came with a long low groan. Kate’s hips jerked against his as she whimpered and climaxed, her fingernails digging hard into his shoulders. He withdrew from her and watched her breasts heaving for a few moments before rolling onto his back, pulling air into his lungs.
“You are amazing,” he gasped when he could speak again and she laughed.
“I love you, Charlie.”
“I love you.” He kissed her lips. “Oh, I wish we could stay here.”
“There’ll be other times,” she said, getting up and retrieving her uniform from the table. “When I don’t have to be back at 18:00 hours.”
Reluctantly, he drove her back to her Sector Station. She lingered in the car for as long as she could before straightening her cap and brushing her tunic down.
“Can’t have the Adjutant thinking I’ve been rolling about in a barn.”
“Kate?” He turned her face towards his. “About London – I’m sure it was just rubbish, and about what I—”
“Shh.” She covered his mouth with her fingers. “Let’s forget about it.”
He gave her a grateful nod. “Write to me?”
“I will.” She kissed him. “Be careful.”
“I promise.” He watched her get out of the car and walk away.
He drove home and, for the first time, he took careful notice of his surroundings as he passed. Streets, homes and people; they wouldn’t be bombed, would they?
“I’ve to be back at 08:00 hours the day after tomorrow,” he told his mother at the front door in answer to her first question. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. You missed Clive by minutes. He and Toby have gone to stay with a friend before going back to school.”
“How is he?”
“Oh, the usual.” Mrs Butler smiled and they went into the hall. “Don’t forget to write to him on his birthday next month.”
“I won’t. Good Lord, he’ll be seventeen.”
“He’s taller than me now.”
“Is Father home?” he asked.
“No, but he rang to say he’ll be back later.” His mother took his cap and tunic from him, hung them up, then led him into the drawing room. “Has it been bad? The papers seem to think it was.”
“Let’s just say.” Charlie eased himself down into an armchair. “I’m relieved I have a lot of flying experience.”
“I was so sorry to hear about Jack.” Mrs Butler sat down on the sofa. “He was such a nice boy.”
“Yes. I told his wife, you know, Mother? It was awful.”
“But why did you do it, then, dear? Surely she would have received a letter?”
“How would you like it if something happened to me and you just got a letter?” he retorted. “He was a friend.”
His mother bit her lips, looked down at her hands and he cursed himself for getting angry and directing it at her. It wasn’t her fault. First Kate, and now his mother. Idiot.
“I’m sorry, Mother. Would you like a drink?”
She nodded and he got up and went to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a whisky and a sherry for his mother. He handed the glass to her, kissed the top of her head and she reached up and stroked his bruised cheek.
“I’m only your silly mother. I worry. And Bob and Helen have been getting so many irate letters from Kate’s father. Apparently, he won’t forgive Bob for signing her into the WAAF. We’re all worried, Charlie.”
Charlie returned to the armchair and hid behind his glass. Well done; it’s just as well you didn’t go into the diplomatic service.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said in a small voice and she shook her head dismissively.
“Let me see your face properly, dear.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, leaning forward. “I landed with a bump the other day. It’s fine.”
“I’m glad,” she
replied, just as the front door closed. “Oh, here’s your father.”
Charlie rolled his eyes with relief as Dr Butler came in and smiled at him.
“Charlie. Home for long?”
“Until the day after tomorrow.”
Dr Butler nodded, then Charlie saw him frown at them and the glasses in their hands.
“Anything wrong?”
“No.” Both answered at once.
“Hmm,” he replied, sounding unconvinced. “I was sorry to hear about, Jack, Charlie.”
There was a silence and Charlie looked up and nodded. His father had managed to read his mind again.
“Thank you, Father. How are you keeping?”
“Not bad.” He poured himself a whisky and sat down in the other armchair. “When were you last home? Oh, when I went to Dover. It was the evacuation. A miracle. It was a wonder so many men were rescued. Did you lose many men?”
Charlie sighed and pressed his lips together, not wanting to talk about it, but supposing it would help.
“Yes, a lot. All good men. But Jack… he… Billy and I couldn’t believe it. Telling his wife was awful.”
“It was good of you to do it, son. Brave, too.”
“I’d never met her before but I’d known Jack for so long I felt I had to tell her myself. She knew Kate, which didn’t help either.”
“How is Kate?”
Charlie gave his father a weak smile, not wanting to think of their row. “As beautiful as ever.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Yes, today. She had a day’s leave. We had lunch together.”
“How has she fared?”
“She’s still in one piece, thankfully. Her Sector Station was hit a few times, though, and personnel killed. So,” he added brightly, eager to change the subject, “any news or gossip here?”
Both his parents looked troubled and Charlie gritted his teeth. What now?
“Your Aunt Winnie died a couple of weeks ago,” his mother replied, her voice shaking.
“Oh, Mother, I’m sorry.” He had always been fond of his mother’s spinster sister. No wonder she had been so easily upset. “What happened?”
“A stroke. It was very quick,” his father told him.
“And she’s left the house to me.” Tears came into his mother’s eyes. “My old home. Being the youngest, I never expected to inherit the house. It was supposed to go to poor Bernard.”
His mother’s only brother had been killed in action during the Battle of the Somme in 1916.
“It’s a beautiful house,” he said, not knowing what else to say. What a leave this was turning out to be. The house – well, it was more of a cottage – was picture postcard-like. Thatched, with roses growing around the front door.
Poor old Auntie Winnie. He sighed and took a gulp of whisky.
Charlie never thought he would be so glad to get back to base. He had been forced to watch himself at all times for fear of upsetting his mother and his father had been called away that evening, which didn’t help. He had always been able to talk more freely to his father and with his mother in such a fragile state of mind he found he couldn’t relax and was relieved to get away.
He was back just in time. On September 7th, the RAF was put on invasion alert as a massive aerial build-up showed up on radar screens. Expecting further bombardment of airfields, the RAF prepared, only to see the force head straight for London. This change of tactics came as an unpleasant surprise and despite some interception, most of the Luftwaffe planes returned safely to their bases.
The East End of London and the docklands were worst hit. Charlie and his flight scrambled time and again to intercept the bombers. On those September nights of 1940, London was suffering its greatest catastrophe since the Great Fire of 1666. The priceless windows of St Mary-le-Bow Church were lost, the House of Lords was hit, as were thousands of Londoners’ homes and businesses.
On September 15th, twenty RAF squadrons flew against the Luftwaffe, the raiders not realising how accurately radar could identify their size, course, and height. Luftwaffe bomber losses were severe, despite having dropped their loads on or as near to their targets as possible. RAF Fighter Command was meeting the enemy with enough strength to inflict significant losses, despite its own losses. By merely continuing to exist, Fighter Command was achieving victory.
London was almost continually bombed, and Charlie scanned the newspapers at every opportunity to see which areas had been hit. He thought of the neat, clean and tidy shelter in the back garden and hoped it would be strong enough.
“Neville Chamberlain’s dead.” Billy tossed a newspaper over to him in the Officers’ Mess one evening. “Died yesterday, the poor old sod.”
“Mmm.” Charlie looked at the date. November 10th already. “Heard from your family lately?”
Billy came from Hackney in east London. Not that it made any difference, the Luftwaffe was dropping bombs all over London now.
“A couple of weeks ago. They’re all fine, helping everyone out, you know my mum. You know, it’s funny really…”
“What is?” Charlie reached into a pocket for a packet of cigarettes, took one out, and lit it.
“That the invasion never happened. On the one hand, I’m relieved, but I’d still have liked to have taught them a lesson, the bastards. When do you think we’ll get some leave?”
“I’ve no idea.” Charlie drew deeply on the cigarette. “I haven’t heard anything; I’m usually asleep. Christmas would be too much to hope for, especially as I had it last year.”
“Last year,” Billy mused and stared up at the ceiling. “It seems such a long time ago. Do you think we should write to Jack’s parents? His wife? First Christmas without him and all that?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie replied. “It might only make things worse for them.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Billy sighed. “We all came through a few scrapes together, but I never thought…”
“I know.” Charlie threw him a cigarette and watched as it was lit with shaking hands.
Christmas was too much to hope for and it was late February 1941 before Charlie was granted two weeks leave. Driving into London, he swore repeatedly. He had never seen anything like it. This was London? This was his home? Many roads were closed on account of fallen or unsafe buildings, or unexploded bombs. Once familiar surroundings were either gone or were smouldering ruins. Were the fire brigade able to cope, he wondered, as he pulled in to allow a fire engine to pass.
“Oi,” an exasperated voice bellowed at him. A policeman was waving him on but Charlie wound his window down.
“Anywhere I should avoid?” he asked, but the policeman just laughed and walked away.
Turning into Dunstan Street, he was pleasantly surprised to see Bob strolling along the pavement with a newspaper under his arm. Charlie pulled over and wound the window down again. “Bob?”
“Charlie.” Bob shook his outstretched hand through the open window. “Home for long?”
“Two weeks.”
“And well-earned I’d say. That’s great; you’ll be able to see Kate. She has a week’s leave beginning the day after tomorrow,” he said and Charlie laughed in delight.
“That’s great news. You seem to have escaped very lightly here, Bob.”
“We have, thank God,” Bob replied and glanced up and down the street. “There’s been a few near-misses, though.”
Two days later, Charlie kept watch for Kate and saw her walk up the drive of number 26 in the late afternoon. He grinned. Bob wouldn’t tell her he was home but would send her across the street later with a message.
There was a knock at the door at eight o’clock and he ran downstairs and answered it. He was in a black suit and she was in her grey Katharine Hepburn trouser suit, the one she had been wearing when he had first spoken to her, and they both stared at each other for a moment.
“Charlie?” she whispered in disbelief. “Oh, Charlie.” She flung her arms around him and they kissed passionately.
> “Bob knows how to keep a secret,” he said with a laugh as they parted.
“How long are you home for?”
“Two weeks. You have a week. We’ve loads of time.”
“Oh, yes?” Her eyebrows rose.
“Whatever is going—” His mother came out to the hall and found them kissing again. “Oh, Kate?”
“Hello, Mrs Butler,” she said and blushed. “I’m sorry if we’re disturbing you, but Helen, Bob and Granny Barbara were wondering if you’d like to come over for a drink?”
His mother hesitated but, thankfully, his father appeared at the drawing room door and smiled at Kate.
“That will be lovely. We might see you two later?” he asked, putting great emphasis on the ‘might’ and winking at them.
“We might, Father.” Charlie just stopped himself from roaring with laughter. His mother was ushered out of the house and, when the front door closed, he grinned at Kate.
“At last.”
“You and Bob planned this, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Father, too,” he said, bringing her into the drawing room. “A drink?” he added, going to the drinks cabinet while she stood with her back to the fire warming herself. “Brandy?”
“Yes, please. Thanks for your birthday and Christmas letters. They were very… unsanitised…” She laughed as he poured the drinks. “And thank you for the brooch, it’s beautiful. All the girls wanted to know if you have a brother.”
“They’re more than welcome to Clive,” he said, handing her a glass.
She smiled and turned around to look at the framed photographs on the mantelpiece. “Is this you?” She pointed to one and he peered over her shoulder.
“That’s when I got my wings.”
“How old were you?”
“A very I-know-it-all nineteen.”
“You and Clive are very alike.”
“Thanks.” He pretended to be offended and she kissed him before pointing to a studio portrait of his parents and a baby.