Читать книгу A Sister’s Courage - Molly Green - Страница 12

July 1939

Raine opened her eyes. They stung, as she’d barely slept a wink while fretting about the morning. And now tomorrow had come and she’d never felt less like taking a plane up. Sighing, she pushed the covers aside and got to her feet. It was still early so with luck she’d have the bathroom to herself for a few minutes.

No sound. No one was up. She shot into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, grimacing at the bloodshot eyes, then ran a shallow bath. Swiftly, she put on her rayon briefs and brassière, then tied the cord of her dressing gown firmly around her slim waist and went downstairs.

‘What is the matter, Lorraine?’ her mother asked at the breakfast table. ‘You look as though you have cried all night.’

‘Suzanne kept me awake with her heavy breathing.’

Her mother’s face softened. ‘Poor child. I think she has the sinus problem. You must be patient with her.’

Raine had the grace to feel guilty at such a fib. Suzanne had been as quiet as a mouse. Raine badly wanted to tell her mother she would be taking her pilot’s test this morning, but instead clamped her lips together. It never worked to be excited about anything if her mother wasn’t involved or hadn’t got some kind of control. And if she hoped for her mother to wish her good luck, she knew that was a wasted hope.

After breakfast Raine stepped into her overalls. She’d seen a lovely bright yellow flight suit on one of the other women at Hart’s who was also having lessons and she’d immediately longed for one just like it. But try as she had, she’d never been able to save enough money. Giving her mother ten shillings a week had put a stop to any luxury.

She had to pass. She just had to. Flinging a raincoat over the overalls in case she came face to face with her mother, she slipped out of the door and cycled to Hart’s.

‘You took a gamble last time I watched you,’ Doug reprimanded as they were walking over the airfield towards the planes. ‘You deliberately went into that loop the loop. You were jolly lucky not to have come a cropper. The engine has a reputation of stalling with that manoeuvre. More than one pilot has lost his life by doing that. And you’re even more lucky that I know you, and how good you are, and didn’t send you to the Chief.’ His eyes held a warning. ‘You’re not experienced enough yet to start doing fancy aerobatics, Raine, and the last thing we want is a fatal accident on our hands.

‘These planes are bloody expensive to repair or replace.’ He smiled wryly at her expression. ‘The RAF worries almost as much about the loss of an aircraft as it does the loss of a pilot. So no more showing off in the air. I mean it. Put your own safety first. Stick to observing weather conditions and be sensible as to whether or not you even attempt a flight until bad weather clears, and thoroughly go through the checks. If you do that, you’ll automatically keep both you and the aircraft safe.’

Doug was speaking to her now as though she was a wayward rebellious child. Maybe she was. She stuck out her chin. She’d often dreamed of doing the loop, but that day she’d dared, knowing it was against the rules but also sure that Doug wouldn’t report her. She wouldn’t have missed that feeling of pure liberation for all the world when she’d somersaulted.

‘I promise I won’t try it again,’ she said, trying hard to sound contrite.

Doug threw her a suspicious glance and sighed. ‘It’ll only be a matter of weeks – maybe only days if dear Mr Hitler has his way – and we’re in another world war, but at least you won’t be called upon as a pilot. That should be a comfort to your mother … and to me,’ he added unexpectedly.

‘But it seems such a waste if I can’t use my flying skills just because I’m a woman.’ Raine’s voice rose in indignation. ‘And if the war starts I won’t have a chance to keep up my hours.’

He studied her as though for the first time. ‘You know what, Raine? Even for someone as obstinate as you, there’s no future in flying until things settle down. But there is some news you might not have heard about. The RAF has just formed a section called the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. There’ll be plenty of jobs to involve you in the various aircraft. I think you’d find something to interest you.’

‘But they won’t allow women pilots,’ Raine said flatly.

‘That’s true.’

‘Then I’m not interested.’

‘I thought that’s what you’d say,’ Doug said. ‘Well, forget it for the moment. I’ll hand you over to the chief flying instructor for your test. In fact, there he is … walking towards us right now.’ He bent his head and kissed her cheek. ‘Good luck, Raine. You have the makings of an excellent pilot. You’ll pass – I’m sure of it.’

Anxious that she had the eyes of the instructor tracing her every movement, Raine carefully carried out all the solo test manoeuvres to the book. Although her landing wasn’t quite as perfect as she would have liked, she didn’t think she’d performed too badly on the whole.

The instructor nodded to her without a hint of whether or not she had made a satisfactory test flight. Instead, he asked her to follow him to his office where he fired questions at her for half an hour, noting down her answers.

‘I think that will be all, Miss Linfoot,’ he said, rising from his desk as her indication to leave.

‘Thank you very much, sir,’ Raine said, willing him to give her an idea as to how she’d performed.

‘You’ll be hearing from the CAG in a fortnight or so.’ He nodded his dismissal.

After what Raine considered was enough time for her licence to arrive – that is, if it was ever going to – she watched for the postman every day before anyone came downstairs.

On day eight she collected the post from the mat. There was one for her mother and one for her – from the Civil Air Guard. With shaking hands she opened it to find a short letter wrapped around her pilot’s licence. This was it. No word of congratulation. But she didn’t need any. She’d passed! Class C – whatever that meant. But whatever it meant, now she was truly a pilot.

Her heart pounded as she remembered Doug’s words about being a comfort to her mother. She didn’t want to be a comfort to anyone. She wanted to play her part if there really was going to be a war. And going by the headlines in her father’s newspaper, the government was preparing for it to happen any day.

There must be some use for her as a pilot, even if she wasn’t allowed to fight Jerry. But she wouldn’t tell anyone in the family just yet that she had her licence. She’d keep that delicious secret to herself until the time was right. And then she’d show them.

A month later, Friday, 1st September, Germany invaded Poland. Although everyone expected it, it was still a shock to hear such terrifying news. Raine’s second shock was the unexpected announcement at Hart’s that all civil flying had now stopped for the duration of the war. She wouldn’t be able to add to her solo hours. She might even lose her skills. If that wasn’t bad enough, the RAF took over the running of Biggin Hill. She prayed they would let her keep her job at the airfield as a civilian, and decided her best bet was to turn up every day and keep her head down.

Sunday, 3rd September 1939

Every morning and evening her father turned on the wireless to hear the news. Raine had begun to make it a habit to join him in the front room of the cottage. This morning she looked up from the crossword puzzle she was doing in yesterday’s Daily Telegraph, her glance falling on Suzanne who sat nearby on a straight-backed chair clicking her knitting needles. She was making a scarf for Ronnie who refused to listen to the news and was out on her bicycle, even though they’d had thunderstorms in the night. Maman was in the kitchen so it was only Dad, Raine thought, who looked properly attentive. She bent her head over the crossword again, but with her ear cocked for the latest news.

‘At eleven o’clock this morning, on the BBC, the Prime Minister has a serious announcement to make,’ came the clipped tones of the newsreader, startling Raine from her concentration.

‘That’s it, then.’ Her father threw his daughters a look of absolute despair.

‘What is?’ Suzanne stopped knitting, the stripy scarf falling in a heap on her lap.

‘Announcement that we’re at war, do you think, Dad?’ Raine said, biting her lip. She couldn’t believe they were even speculating such a horrifying event, but after Friday’s shocking announcement on the wireless that the Nazis had invaded Poland, it was surely inevitable.

‘I’m certain of it now.’ Her father flung down the morning’s newspaper in disgust. ‘This will all be stale by the time we hear what Chamberlain’s got to say.’ He stood, his expression heavy. ‘I hoped right up until we heard about Poland that it could be staved off, but that’s it, now.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘I’d better tell your mother to make sure she’s here in two hours’ time.’

He left the room, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘Do you really think that’s what the Prime Minister’s going to announce?’ Suzanne said, her face pale.

‘I don’t see what else it can be, now Germany’s invaded Poland,’ Raine said. ‘We promised Poland if that ever happened, Great Britain and France would stick together against Germany. It’s too serious a promise to break.’

At five minutes to eleven Raine’s father switched on the wireless again to warm it up. As soon as the pips came, no one spoke. In the gravest tone, the Prime Minister began to speak.

‘This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German Government a final note stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us.

‘I have to tell you now that no such undertaking has been received, and that consequently this country is at war with Germany.

‘You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed.

‘The Government have made plans under which it will be possible to carry on the work of the nation …’

Raine’s mind was working furiously. She didn’t hear much of the rest of Mr Chamberlain’s speech until she heard him say:

‘… in the days of stress and strain that may be ahead. But these plans need your help. You may be taking your part in the fighting services or as a volunteer in one of the branches of Civil Defence. If so, you will report for duty in accordance with the instructions you receive. You may be engaged in work essential to the prosecution of war for the maintenance of the life of the people – in factories, in transport, in public utility concerns or in the supply of other necessaries of life. If so, it is of vital importance that you should carry on with your jobs.

‘Now may God bless you all and may He defend the right, for it is evil things that we shall be fighting against – brute force, bad faith, injustice, oppression and persecution – and against them I am certain that the right will prevail.’

There was a crackling noise, then the words ‘air-raid siren.’ Her father switched the wireless off.

Maman was the first to break the silence with a stifled sob. ‘Where is my baby? Where is Véronique?’

‘She’ll come back any minute when she hears the siren,’ Robert said. ‘You know she doesn’t like being hemmed in.’

‘Does she dislike us so much?’ Simone raised her eyes to her husband.

‘Of course not, darling. She just loves being outside and you can’t protect her forever.’

‘I need to know she is back,’ Simone said, her eyes beseeching him. ‘You will have to go and find her.’

‘I’ll go,’ Raine said, leaping up.

‘Stay here.’ Simone’s tone was harsh. ‘You will not leave the house.’

Taking no notice of her mother, Raine made towards the door. At the same moment Ronnie breezed in, soaked from head to foot, her face glowing from her cycle ride.

‘What’s the matter? Why are you all looking so serious?’ She looked from one member of the family to another.

‘Only that Mr Chamberlain has declared war on Germany,’ her mother said in a tight voice. ‘And we were worried about you, Véronique, naturellement.’

‘I’m all right.’ Ronnie shrugged off her light jacket and threw it on the back of a chair. ‘Well, at least there’ll be some excitement going on around here for a change.’

‘How can you talk like that?’ Simone snapped. She turned to her husband. ‘Can’t they understand anything, Robert?’ she said, her voice imploring him. ‘All those lives lost only twenty years ago. How many more will be erased before they all come to their senses?’

‘We’re not talking about anyone with common sense as far as the Nazis are concerned,’ Robert answered. He got up to offer his wife a handkerchief which she practically snatched and held to her eyes.

‘I can’t bear this to ’appen again.’ Simone’s voice was muffled.

‘Don’t take on, darling. You must keep strong for all our sakes.’

Taking her handkerchief from her face, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I’m only thankful I’ve got girls. All the poor mothers who have sons. It will be terrible for them.’

‘We all have to play a part,’ Raine said, gazing across at her mother. ‘Just like Mr Chamberlain said. All of us means exactly that – girls and women as well as boys and men. And I intend to do my bit.’

‘And just what do you intend to do, Lorraine?’ her mother challenged.

This was the opportunity Raine had been waiting for. It was such a shock to hear they really were at war, that telling her mother she was now a qualified pilot would get everything over with in one go. But her answer to her mother’s question was swallowed up in a wailing sound, which sent shivers across her shoulders. An air-raid siren.

Simone screamed and rushed to the window. ‘They’re bombing us already!’ She began to sob. ‘Oh, why did we have to leave our lovely house with the basement to keep us safe?’

Raine saw her father flinch at Maman’s accusatory tone.

‘It will only be a practice,’ he said, ‘though I’m afraid we’ll have to get used to the sound. But it won’t happen for a while, I’m sure, until the Germans decide how to respond now we’ve told them it’s war. And the village shelters aren’t far.’

Simone rounded on her husband. ‘How do you know what that creature is thinking?’ she demanded. ‘And what is the use of a shelter in the village if we are trapped here and killed?’

‘Calm down, my love. I imagine it was quite a surprise to the Germans. Hitler was always so sure that Britain would be persuaded to become one of his allies. How little does he know the British mind.’

Peace in our time. Would anyone ever forget the Prime Minister’s triumphant words? Raine thought grimly. Neville Chamberlain and Herr Hitler had signed an agreement to say the two countries would never go to war with one another again, when now, almost exactly a year later, Chamberlain had told the nation that war had been declared on Germany. It was too terrible to imagine. And yet she understood how Ronnie was feeling. At least we know for sure, she told herself, aware of a frisson of excitement. Surely now she’d be able to put her pilot’s licence to good use.

Raine quietly left the room. She needed to get some air and think what to do next.

Mr Gray, the village air-raid warden, came to the house a few days later to announce that gas masks were being sent to the village hall, and families should come to be fitted and collect theirs the following week.

‘I will not wear anything so ugly,’ Simone declared when she saw the masks lined up on the trestle tables in the village hall next to a pile of cardboard boxes for each one to be carried in.

‘It might save your life, Maman,’ Raine said grimly, trying hers on.

Ugh. The rubber stank and there was a strong smell of disinfectant.

Simone wasn’t the only one muttering. Most of the men seemed to accept that they were a sensible precaution, but several of their wives decided they didn’t like the look of them at all.

‘Keep it on for a few minutes, dear,’ one of the ladies who was helping people with their size said to Raine. ‘It’ll get you used to it.’

Raine didn’t think she could last that long. It was difficult to breathe and the smell was making her feel queasy. After a long minute, she pulled it off and went to the door, drawing in deep gulps of air.

Simone refused even to try it on. She simply took the size the woman recommended her and put it in its cardboard box.

‘I will look at it when I am home,’ she said, but Raine knew she would do nothing of the kind.

‘How are you two getting on?’ Raine asked her sisters.

There were muffled replies and both of them removed theirs.

‘They’re hateful,’ Ronnie said. ‘It’d take a catastrophe for me to wear mine.’

‘That’s the idea,’ Raine said.

Suzanne promptly rushed to the cloakroom and came back white-faced.

‘That was horrible,’ she said. ‘I felt I was suffocating.’

‘Let’s just hope we never have to use them,’ Raine said.

When several weeks went by and still nothing happened, people began to call it a phoney war. They became more casual about keeping their gas masks with them at all times. But as far as Raine was concerned, there was one big difference. There were no more civilian pilots, no more flying clubs. Anyone who was a pilot was serving their country – and that, of course, didn’t include female pilots. She gritted her teeth. Maybe she should join the WAAFs, after all. At least she’d be amongst people she respected and admired. But still something held her back.

She’d finally heard from Doug. He sent her a private letter care of Biggin Hill aerodrome.

28th October 1939

Dear Raine,

I’m so sorry I left so abruptly. You must have wondered what had happened to me. I had a crisis at home and then when I’d got myself back together again there was a war on!

I heard you got your pilot’s licence so my heartiest congratulations. You see I do know a bit of what’s going on even though I’m quite a long way from you at the moment – can’t say where. You’ve probably left Biggin Hill by now and joined the WAAFs. That’s what I wanted to tell you – that I’ve joined up – RAF, of course.

Raine chewed her lip. So Doug was a fighter pilot doing his bit for his country. She prayed he hadn’t been called on to do anything too dangerous. He’d become like a brother to her over the months he’d taught her to fly and she’d been hurt, then worried, when she hadn’t heard anything from him for such a long time. She read on:

I think very fondly of you and I’m so proud of you. We’re bound to meet sooner or later, particularly if you’ve joined the WAAFs as at least you’ll be close to the action.

However I do have something interesting to tell you. A civilian organisation called the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA for short) has just been formed and its function is to ferry aircraft to airfields around the country for the RAF. They’re taking pilots who are too old this time around, or injured from the last war, so not fit for combat but they can still deliver a plane safely. And this is the real news – apparently they’re planning to form a women’s section of experienced pilots. I’ll let you know when I hear anything more.

Write to me if you get the opportunity. Address at top and it will be forwarded to me.

With much affection,

Doug x

Raine read the last part of the letter about the ATA again, her heart practically leaping out of her chest. Here was the reason she hadn’t joined the WAAFs. This ATA was going to admit women pilots! She’d try to find out more about it at work tomorrow. Because if she didn’t get some regular air miles in her log book soon, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She swallowed hard. All she had worked for, all she had dreamed, would be shattered. There had to be a way for this ATA organisation to take her. There simply had to.