‘Sussex, middle of nowhere. You?’
‘Surrey, middle of nowhere.’
The pair laughed as the line began to shift again, more women passing through the glass double-doors of the Air Ministry. Violet was next. She took Elsie’s gloved hand in hers. ‘Well, good luck with your war, Elsie Finch. I do hope that our paths will cross again.’
Elsie watched as Violet disappeared inside the building, ever so slightly mesmerised by her.
‘WAAF interview?’ a short, stout man in a tight-fitting suit barked, as he pulled open one of the doors.
Elsie nodded and was directed across a large open lobby where she witnessed men and women in a greater array of smart military uniforms than she even knew existed. A sudden flush of something that she couldn’t place—was it adrenalin or excitement?—made her stride boldly through the humming swarms of blue-grey officers, as if she had as much of a right to be there as did they.
As she had been told, Elsie made her way to the bottom of a wide mahogany staircase. She placed a hand on the newel post and gazed upwards, longingly. Up there, the next few weeks, months or, God forbid, years, would be decided. Taking a deep breath, she continued with her brisk, confident march up to the first floor, where she found herself standing in a wide corridor that seemed endless in either direction. Smart men and women, filled with purpose, crossed the corridor between heavy-set doors, carrying with them an assortment of paperwork. Elsie watched in awe, wondering at the nature and content of what they clutched so guardedly to their chests. Her envious trance, straying into the dangerous territory of her imagination, snapped when she heard her own name being called.
‘Mrs Finch?’ the woman repeated in a well-spoken voice. She was standing with her back pressed to an open doorway, her stance impatient.
Elsie smiled and headed over to her, offering her hand. ‘Elsie Finch.’
‘Assistant Section Officer Conan Doyle,’ the woman responded, fleetingly shaking Elsie’s hand.
Elsie took a step back and stared at the woman. She must have been in her late twenties and was dressed impeccably in full Air Force blue uniform. She wore a tight black tie and a peaked cap with a shiny badge that Elsie recognised as being the emblem of the Royal Air Force. ‘Conan Doyle? Any relation to Arthur? He’s my favourite author…’
‘He’s my father,’ she cut in abruptly. Her hand gesture that Elsie should enter the room promptly dissolved the conversation.
It took a moment for Elsie’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. A thin veil of cigarette smoke lingered around the two green desk lamps that failed to light much of the large room. The combination of the lighting, the oak panelled walls and the dark block-wood floor made for an oppressive, heavy feeling, which Elsie thought might have been part and parcel of the interview process. Overlooking all the proceedings was a stern portrait of the King.
‘Sit,’ a hoarse voice instructed from behind the light.
Elsie crept into the room towards the desk. She tentatively sat in the chair and strained her eyes to see who was seated in front of her. It was two women in WAAF uniform, both in their late fifties with sharp, harsh features. Neither woman reciprocated Elsie’s smile. Now Miss Conan Doyle joined them.
‘Mrs Finch,’ the woman in the centre said, to which Elsie nodded in response. ‘You’re twenty years old.’
Elsie paused, waiting for a question to follow but when none came, she mumbled, ‘Yes, that’s right.’
The three women stared at her.
‘Is that a problem?’ Elsie asked, as politely as she could manage.
‘Do you think your age and inexperience is a problem?’ This time it was the lady on the left who spoke. A whiskery spinster, short and plump with a mass of dark curls licking out from underneath her cap.
Elsie gritted her teeth, trying not to react to whatever point this woman thought that she was making. Elsie smiled, taking a meaningful glance at Miss Conan Doyle, who could only have been a handful of years older than she was. ‘No, I rather think my age gives me the tenacity and stamina required in the Forces.’
None of the three women responded.
A short pause and then the lady in the middle spoke again: ‘Do you want to be a cook or an MT driver? I doubt those qualities you mention will help in either case.’
‘I… I don’t know. Anything will do.’
The lady on the left couldn’t hide her incredulity. ‘Anything, you say?’
Elsie felt a skin of crimson rising from her chest to her cheeks. This wasn’t going at all well. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. ‘Anything to help the war effort, I meant to say. King and country. I want to do my bit,’ she murmured.
‘Very admirable,’ the woman in the centre said, without a drop of sincerity. ‘Your husband, Lawrence—he’s missing in action.’
Another non-question, Elsie thought. ‘Yes, that’s correct. Presumed dead.’
‘And it’s only been a few short weeks. Do you think it wise for a woman in your position…’ A knock at the door stopped her in mid-flow. ‘Come in,’ she barked impatiently.
The door opened and a petite young lady with round glasses in neat civilian clothing poked her head inside. ‘So sorry to interrupt,’ she grimaced. ‘Group Captain Wainwright sent me down. Could Miss Conan Doyle take a quick look at something?’ she asked, stepping fully into the room and holding aloft a sheet of paper.
‘Make it quick,’ the lady in the centre answered.
Elsie watched with interest as the young thing darted in like a frightened kitten and thrust the paper at Miss Conan Doyle. ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Elsie heard her whisper.
Miss Conan Doyle raised a pair of glasses, which had been dangling at her chest, and squinted at what she was reading. ‘Ich verstehe nur Bahnhof,’ she read. ‘Well, my German isn’t great, but I think it means ‘I understand only train station’,’ she suggested.
The young girl took the paper and grimaced again. ‘Yes, that was what we worked out upstairs. But…but what does it mean?’
Miss Conan Doyle lowered her glasses. ‘Damned if I know. Code, maybe?’
The gruff lady in the centre had heard enough. ‘Thank you,’ she dismissed.
The young girl scuttled away from the desk.
‘It means that what you’re saying is unclear and hasn’t been understood,’ Elsie said, turning to the girl just as she reached the door.
‘Pardon?’
‘Ich verstehe nur Bahnhof means that something is clear as mud. Double-Dutch. However you like to say it,’ Elsie said. ‘It’s an idiom.’
‘Thank you,’ the young girl said, glancing uncertainly between Elsie and the three WAAF women. ‘Thank you.’ She left the room and closed the door.
Elsie turned back to face the three indomitable women and wondered what she had missed, for there had been a sudden shift in each of their demeanours—something she struggled to put her finger on, as she looked at each of their faces in turn. There was a lightening to their eyes—possibly even a flicker of a smile on the face of Miss Conan Doyle. ‘What’s happened?’ Elsie asked.
‘You speak German!’ Miss Conan Doyle exclaimed, with an overly dramatic laugh.
‘And how did you come by this skill, Mrs Finch?’ enquired the whiskery one on the left, sitting forward in her seat, as if engulfed in sheer desperation to hear the answer.
‘My grandfather. My mother’s father was from Hamburg. I spent almost every summer out there with his sisters,’ Elsie answered. ‘Is this something that might help me as a cook or an MT driver, then?’ Her barbed question, with an accompanying syrupy smile, was received by the three women in all innocence. But Elsie had known about the WAAFs being recruited for Special Duties before she had come to the interview; it was her secret weapon.
‘Oh, Mrs Finch,’ began the lady in the centre, suddenly speaking as though they were old friends. ‘I’ve got something much more suited to your talents. Billy, pass her the papers.’
With a smile, Miss Conan Doyle slid a bunch of
clipped papers across the desk towards Elsie. ‘It’s the Official Secrets Act. Please sign it before we proceed.’
Elsie took the silver fountain pen being eagerly thrust towards her by the whiskery spinster. She looked up, held the pen to her mouth and proceeded to pretend to read the wording on the sheets.
Minutes passed.
Finally, Elsie squiggled her name at the bottom of the paper, having not read a word of it. She carefully placed the pen down on the paperwork.
‘Welcome to the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force,’ Miss Conan Doyle chanted.
Further Information
Website: www.nathandylangoodwin.com
Twitter: @NathanDGoodwin
Facebook: www.facebook.com/nathandylangoodwin
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/dylan0470/
Blog: theforensicgenealogist.blogspot.co.uk
Hiding the Past
(The Forensic Genealogist #1)
Peter Coldrick had no past; that was the conclusion drawn by years of personal and professional research. Then he employed the services of one Morton Farrier, Forensic Genealogist – a stubborn, determined man who uses whatever means necessary to uncover the past. With the Coldrick Case, Morton faces his toughest and most dangerous assignment yet, where all of his investigative and genealogical skills are put to the test. However, others are also interested in the Coldrick family, people who will stop at nothing, including murder, to hide the past. As Morton begins to unearth his client’s mysterious past, he is forced to confront his own family’s dark history, a history which he knows little about.
‘Flicking between the present and stories and extracts from the past, the pace never lets up in an excellent addition to this unique genre of literature’
Your Family Tree
‘At times amusing and shocking, this is a fast-moving modern crime mystery with genealogical twists. The blend of well fleshed-out characters, complete with flaws and foibles, will keep you guessing until the end’
Family Tree
‘Once I started reading Hiding the Past I had great difficulty putting it down - not only did I want to know what happened next, I actually cared’
Lost Cousins
‘This is a must read for all genealogy buffs and anyone who loves a good mystery with a jaw dropping ending!’
Baytown Genealogy Society
‘Hiding the Past is a suspenseful, fast-paced mystery novel, in which the hero is drawn into an intrigue that spans from World War II to the present, with twists and turns along the way. The writing is smooth and the story keeps moving along so that I found it difficult to put down’
The Archivist
The Lost Ancestor
(The Forensic Genealogist #2)
From acclaimed author, Nathan Dylan Goodwin comes this exciting new genealogical crime mystery, featuring the redoubtable forensic genealogist, Morton Farrier. When Morton is called upon by Ray Mercer to investigate the 1911 disappearance of his great aunt, a housemaid working in a large Edwardian country house, he has no idea of the perilous journey into the past that he is about to make. Morton must use his not inconsiderable genealogical skills to solve the mystery of Mary Mercer’s disappearance, in the face of the dangers posed by those others who are determined to end his investigation at any cost.
‘If you enjoy a novel with a keen eye for historical detail, solid writing, believable settings and a sturdy protagonist, The Lost Ancestor is a safe bet. Here British author Nathan Dylan Goodwin spins a riveting genealogical crime mystery with a pulsing, realistic storyline’
Your Family Tree
‘Finely paced and full of realistic genealogical terms and tricks, this is an enjoyable whodunit with engaging research twists that keep you guessing until the end. If you enjoy genealogical fiction and Ruth Rendell mysteries, you’ll find this a pleasing page-turner’
Family Tree
‘…an extremely well-constructed plot, with plenty of intrigue and genealogical detail - but all the loose ends are neatly tied up by the end… The Lost Ancestor is highly recommended’
Lost Cousins
‘It’s an excellent pick for holidays, weekend relaxing, or curling up indoors or outdoors, whatever the weather permits in your corner of the world’
Lisa Louise Cooke
‘The Lost Ancestor is fast-paced, not plodding, and does well building mystery… The author’s depictions of scenes and places are vivid; the characters are interesting and intriguing. In toggling back and forth from past to present, Goodwin shows how the deeds of long-dead ancestors are haunting their descendants’
GenealogyMagazine.com
The Orange Lilies
(The Forensic Genealogist #3)
Morton Farrier has spent his entire career as a forensic genealogist solving other people’s family history secrets, all the while knowing so little of his very own family’s mysterious past. However, this poignant Christmastime novella sees Morton’s skills put to use much closer to home, as he must confront his own past, present and future through events both present-day and one hundred years ago. It seems that not every soldier saw a truce on the Western Front that 1914 Christmas…
‘The Orange Lilies sees Morton for once investigating his own tree (and about time too!). Moving smoothly between Christmas 1914 and Christmas 2014, the author weaves an intriguing tale with more than a few twists - several times I thought I'd figured it all out, but each time there was a surprise waiting in the next chapter... Thoroughly recommended - and I can't wait for the next novel’
Lost Cousins
‘Morton confronts a long-standing mystery in his own family–one that leads him just a little closer to the truth about his personal origins. This Christmas-time tale flashes back to Christmas 1914, to a turning point in his relatives’ lives. Don’t miss it!’
Lisa Louise Cooke
‘This is Goodwin’s best work for me. It is not a murder mystery, but Morton does solve some family mysteries with an almost Agatha Christie denouement. I recommend it for its genealogical appeal, mystery, and for anyone interested in World War I’
McGenealogist Blog
The America Ground
(The Forensic Genealogist #4)
Morton Farrier, the esteemed English forensic genealogist, had cleared a space in his busy schedule to track down his own elusive father finally. But he is then presented with a case that challenges his research skills in his quest to find the killer of a woman murdered more than one hundred and eighty years ago. Thoughts of his own family history are quickly and violently pushed to one side as Morton rushes to complete his investigation before other sinister elements succeed in derailing the case.
‘As in the earlier novels, each chapter slips smoothly from past to present, revealing murderous events as the likeable Morton uncovers evidence in the present, while trying to solve the mystery of his own paternity. Packed once more with glorious detail of records familiar to family historians, The America Ground is a delightfully pacey read’
Family Tree
‘Like most genealogical mysteries this book has several threads, cleverly woven together by the author - and there are plenty of surprises for the reader as the story approaches its conclusion. A jolly good read!’
Lost Cousins
‘Goodwin’s stories have been good reads, engaging the interest of the genealogist with references to records…Readers will welcome this new book as a welcome distraction from the intensity of research to reading about someone else’s work, with murder thrown in’
Eastman’s Online Genealogy Newsletter
‘Great reading - a real page-turner! Good solid genealogy research – highly recommended’
Genealogy Happy Hour
‘It’s just a terrific book! It’s great stuff, I’ve read it, and you’re going to enjoy it’
Extreme Genes
‘The writing is pin-sharp and there is plenty of suspense in an excellent novel which makes me want to return to the first books in the series’
The Norfolk A
ncestor
The Spyglass File
(The Forensic Genealogist #5)
Morton Farrier was no longer at the top of his game. His forensic genealogy career was faltering and he was refusing to accept any new cases, preferring instead to concentrate on locating his own elusive biological father. Yet, when a particular case presents itself, that of finding the family of a woman abandoned in the midst of the Battle of Britain, Morton is compelled to help her to unravel her past. Using all of his genealogical skills, he soon discovers that the case is connected to The Spyglass File—a secretive document which throws up links which threaten to disturb the wrongdoings of others, who would rather its contents, as well as their actions, remain hidden forever.
‘If you like a good mystery, and the detective work of genealogy, this is another mystery novel from Nathan which will have you whizzing through the pages with time slipping by unnoticed’
Your Family History
‘The first page was so overwhelming that I had to stop for breath…Well, the rest of the book certainly lived up to that impressive start, with twists and turns that kept me guessing right to the end… As the story neared its conclusion I found myself conflicted, for much as I wanted to know how Morton's assignment panned out, I was enjoying it so much that I really didn’t want this book to end!’
Lost Cousins
‘Author Nathan Dylan Goodwin has given students of the Second World War, and avid family historians another great genealogical read’
The America Ground (The Forensic Genealogist Series Book 4) Page 32