Just before midnight a racket on the stairs alerted her to the arrival of the missing girls. The noise they were making echoed up the stairwell.

  ‘Shush, you two, you’ll wake the whole building,’ she hissed over the banisters.

  Then, to her horror, she saw they were not alone. Two sheepish chaps were assisting Alice and Faye up the stairs. The girls were both inebriated and scarcely able to stand.

  Rebecca joined her in the passageway and they exchanged worried glances. Not only were the two girls drunk, their uniforms were incorrectly buttoned and neither of them were wearing the regulation stockings.

  ‘You two men, remove yourself from our quarters immediately if you don’t want to be reported and put on a charge.’

  The jolly smiles of the escorts vanished, as did they.

  ‘Come along, girls, Rebecca and I will get you into bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.’

  Between them they got their friends undressed and into bed. If she’d been shocked by the state of their uniforms she was even more horrified to discover neither of them were wearing knickers. Shocked to the core she pulled Faye’s nightie over her head, put a clean chamber pot beside the bed in case she was sick and scuttled off to her own billet.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if the girls had been going out with the men concerned – but to have sex with men they couldn’t possibly know was another thing altogether. Maybe she was a prude, but she was certain both girls would regret their behaviour when they were sober.

  The two of them barely made it on time for their watch. They both looked peaky and wouldn’t meet her eyes. The matter was never discussed. They worked together well enough but no longer socialised. She and Rebecca remained firm friends and this was some consolation.

  The expected massive attack from the Luftwaffe had so far not materialised but there were enough blips to report every watch to make her feel she was doing her bit. One day seemed very much like the last and it wasn’t until she happened to look at the calendar hanging in the recreation room that she realised it would be Greg’s birthday the following week.

  ‘Rebecca, I need to go into Felixstowe and buy a gift and card for my fiancé. Will you come with me? We don’t have to book into the hostel if you don’t want to.’

  ‘We can go in for the afternoon and evening. It doesn’t get dark until after ten so as long as we get back before then we won’t need to worry about the blackout.’

  Ellie hadn’t asked April and Faye to accompany them.

  Although she knew it was highly unlikely he would be there, she couldn’t help but look out for Greg when she disembarked from the ferry. Of course, he wasn’t there. Although most things were rationed she wouldn’t need coupons to buy a birthday card or a small gift. The difficulty was finding either item. There was a national paper shortage and in the end she abandoned her search.

  ‘At least I’ve got a letter written just in case. I’ll post it now.’

  This left them the remainder of the day and the evening before they had to return. ‘Shall we find ourselves something to eat before we go back?’ Rebecca suggested.

  She was about to answer when she spotted a poster in a shop window. ‘Look at that – there’s going to be a film show in the church hall. Shall we go to that? It will be finished in good time to catch the last ferry.’

  This left at eleven thirty and the film show finished at ten o’clock. The last bus left at eleven fifteen. The film show was cartoons and newsreels but enjoyable nonetheless. Afterwards tea and biscuits were served and it would have been rude to refuse.

  The fact that the film projector had broken down twice during the performance had meant the show didn’t finish on time – but neither she nor Rebecca factored that into their timetable. It wasn’t until she glanced at her watch she realised how late it was.

  ‘We have to run – it’s after eleven – we mustn’t miss the bus.’

  Her heart was pounding, her face perspiration-covered, but still they were too late. ‘What are we going to do? If we don’t get to the ferry before the last one we won’t be back before midnight and we’ll be put on a charge.’

  Rebecca was equally distressed. ‘How much money have you got left? Do you have enough to pay for a taxi?’

  ‘I do. What a good thing I didn’t buy Greg a birthday present after all.’

  It took them a while to find a taxi driver and when he dropped them at the ferry the last boat was already chugging across the Deben.

  ‘We could swim across,’ her friend suggested.

  ‘I think we’d be in even more trouble if we turned up dripping wet. Shall we try and wake up one of the fishermen and ask him to row us?’

  Eventually they persuaded a fisherman to help them. They had to wait outside whilst he got dressed. The minutes were ticking by. If he didn’t get a move on they would have spent a fortune and still have missed their midnight deadline.

  He’d obviously taken longer to row across than it took to travel in the RAF motorised boat and by the time they docked they were already ten minutes late. She was obliged to give the man half a crown. Not satisfied with this as a reward, and it was more than generous, he grabbed hold of Rebecca and kissed her soundly on the cheek.

  ‘That was an expensive day out,’ she whispered as they crept furtively up the stairs.

  ‘But good fun, though.’

  ‘How can you say that? We’re both on a charge.’

  The following morning they had to appear before the WAAF CO. After explaining their efforts to get back on time they received the lightest of reprimands but she now had a blemish on her record.

  ‘We should have got a sleep-out pass and not a late pass then it wouldn’t have mattered what time we got back,’ Rebecca said with a sigh.

  ‘Never mind, it’s the dance tonight and we’ve not been yet. I’m not all that fond of dancing but from what I’ve heard it’s a jolly affair and not to be missed.’

  ‘I suppose we ought to go, but to be honest I find it too difficult seeing other people enjoying themselves when my Derek is so far away.’

  ‘I miss Greg too, but neither of them would want us to be sad. I bet they both go out for a drink or three whenever they get the opportunity.’

  *

  Jack got to know the other guys on his floor and soon they were good chums. Usually he was too knackered to do more than gobble down his breakfast and tumble into bed. Nothing much was happening and even though they were scrambled most nights there’d been no sorties and no sign of any bombers.

  The high point of his week was the arrival of a letter from Ellie. Her letters were amusing – she seemed to be having a better time than he was. Maybe he would try and see her himself one of these days. If Greg could get a twelve hour pass then maybe he could too.

  On second thoughts, he would do better finding his own girlfriend and not hankering after Ellie who belonged to someone else. There were plenty of pretty girls working on the base, most in uniform, and the other guys seemed to take advantage of this. He hadn’t slept with a girl for months. In fact, not since he’d met Ellie.

  He and Chalky became best buddies. His friend was happy to listen for hours to his tales of his acrobatic flying in America.

  ‘I wondered why you sometimes sound like a Yank – now I understand. No wonder you’re such a damn good fighter pilot.’

  ‘I don’t want to make a career out of flying when the war’s over. What about you?’

  ‘Not bloody likely. Both feet firmly on the ground for me when I’m demobbed. I’ll go back to working in the city.’

  ‘I’d like to go to university and become a civil engineer or architect. Somehow, I guess, the idea of putting buildings up rather than knocking them down appeals to me.’

  ‘Shall we go to London tomorrow? Could do with a night out.’

  They were sitting outside in their flying gear enjoying the early evening sunshine. The other guys in the squadron were similarly sprawled about waiting to see if they would be scrambled this afternoon. The telephone rang. Seconds later he and Chalky were given orders to patrol over London.

  This wasn’t a scramble, just a routine sortie. He took off first, closely followed by Chalky. After buzzing about for almost an hour and seeing absolutely bugger all he requested from ops that they be allowed to land. Permission was refused and they continued to circle around the city at seven thousand feet. He was now in the rear with his friend taking the lead.

  He saw an aircraft dive into the layer of cloud a mile away and contacted Chalky on the RT.

  ‘Enemy aircraft. Did you see them?’

  ‘Tally-ho! Follow me.’

  Seconds later two more Huns shot through the clouds. They were Junkers 87 dive-bombers. He switched on his reflector sights and turned his gun button to fire and raced towards the enemy aircraft. These were easy meat and he couldn’t wait to shoot one down. He was flying at high speed behind the other Hurry, approaching the enemy, when he glanced behind and to his horror saw half a dozen Messerschmitt 110s a couple of thousand feet above them.

  They were already starting to dive and rapidly overtaking. If they didn’t take immediate action they would be shot down. Frantically he called his friend.

  ‘Look out behind. Messerschmitt behind you approaching fast.’ Despite his constant shouting Chalky appeared oblivious and continued to pursue the bombers which were almost in range. The enemy aircraft were right behind them and the leading German fighter opened fire. The tracer bullets and shells screamed past above his head. Too bloody close.

  He spun his aircraft sideways and dived through a layer of cloud just below. Bloody hell! Just in front of him was one of the Junkers. He opened fire but missed and the enemy aircraft vanished into the clouds.

  Where the hell was Chalky? He was about to call him again when he spotted a kite flying parallel to him through the cloud. When they both emerged into clear sky he saw it was one of the dive-bombers.

  This time he wouldn’t miss. He opened fire and sent the remainder of his ammunition smashing into the plane. Pieces of fuselage and cockpit covering shattered. A stream of smoke poured from the enemy engine and seconds later the Junkers was engulfed in flame. This was his first kill of the war. Sickened by the sight he turned away and tried to call his mate on the RT. Again – no response.

  He returned to base and almost turned his Hurry on its nose after an appalling landing. His hands were shaking as he scrambled out and was glad of the assistance of his ground crew. Bill Preston, his squadron leader, was waiting to speak to him. Jack quickly explained what had taken place and Bill nodded.

  ‘We can’t contact Chalky. As soon as you’re refuelled we’re going up to look for him. We’re hoping he ditched in the sea.’

  The search proved fruitless. Not even a sign of a wrecked Hurricane. Bloody war! Couldn’t even be a funeral if there wasn’t a body to bury.

  When he returned to his room everything was the same as it had been when he’d left. Chalky’s belongings were scattered about the place – he wasn’t a tidy bloke – but his friend would never be back. He didn’t want to sleep in here tonight. The guy next door was on duty. Jack collected his things and moved next door. His head was full of thoughts of Chalky, how they’d been sitting, laughing, planning a day out in the Smoke together. Now his buddy was dead in the cockpit of his plane somewhere under the water of the English Channel.

  The next morning he had to put it aside. There wasn’t time to mourn lost comrades. Raise a glass in the mess to whoever had bought it and then put on a brave face. This was the only way anyone could cope with the death of so many. He’d lost friends before and no doubt would do so again and just had to get on with it like everyone else. He desperately wanted to speak to Ellie. She’d understand how he felt.

  After eating a late breakfast, he went to make his combat report and received yet more bad news. The bloke whose bed he’d borrowed last night had gone for a Burton. Not even fighting the enemy, but misjudging his landing and crashing into a building at the far end of the runway. What a sodding awful way to die.

  Six

  ‘There’s a very official looking letter for you, Ellie,’ Rebecca said. ‘I thought I’d bring it up.’

  Ellie had been washing her hair at the communal sink in the girls’ room. It was far easier to do it during the day when the demand was less. Quickly snatching up a towel she wrapped her hair in it wishing she’d kept it short the way she’d had it when she was flying. It took far too long to dry now it was below her shoulders.

  ‘Thanks, I’ve been expecting to hear…’ She stopped, realising she hadn’t told her friend about the application. As it had been more than five weeks since she’d posted it she’d begun to think her application might have been tossed in the wastepaper basket as totally unsuitable.

  Her friend was waiting expectantly for her to finish the sentence. She decided to open the letter before telling Rebecca anything else, after all there might be no reason to mention the ATA at all.

  She read the letter with growing excitement. They wanted her – in fact they were eager for her to join as soon as possible. A letter had been sent to WAAF headquarters already asking for her to be released from the service.

  ‘I’m going to join the ATA. I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t know if I’d be accepted.’

  ‘When do you leave?’

  ‘They want me to report to Hatfield as soon as possible.’

  Within ten minutes her hair was put up in a chignon and she was ready to visit the CO. Rebecca had congratulated her, given her a quick hug and then hurried off on an errand of some sort. Satisfied she looked smart, Ellie clattered downstairs, through the house, and only slowed her pace as she approached the admin offices.

  For once the sniffy admin girl who guarded the CO’s privacy smiled at her. ‘I was about to send for you – how did you know the queen bee wants to see you?’

  Ellie waved her letter. ‘I just got this – I expect she’s had something similar. Do I go in?’

  ‘Of course, no need to knock, the door’s open.’

  She marched smartly to the desk and saluted.

  ‘Goodness, that was quick. It seems I am to release you to join the ATA. I’ll give you a forty-eight hour pass – that should be ample to get to Hatfield and take their test. Don’t get your hopes up, Simpson, it’s some time since you flew.’

  It hadn’t mentioned anything about having to take a test in her letter. ‘Not that long, ma’am, about nine months. It’s like riding a bicycle, you don’t forget.’

  She left the office in a rush and collected her pass before dashing upstairs and flinging the bits and pieces she would need for two nights away into a bag. Thank goodness she still had her dad’s canvas haversack, a relic from the first war, so she didn’t need to take a half empty kitbag. Then she reconsidered – would she need her flying kit and dungarees? She had no intention of taking her flying test in a skirt and stockings.

  Emptying her overnight things into the bottom of the kitbag she then added the goggles, scarf, gauntlets, and helmet that she’d had with her ever since she’d left Glebe Farm. It seemed like a lifetime ago but it had only been six months.

  So eager was she to leave she neglected to say her farewells to the girls she’d been working with for the past few weeks and ran down the path that led to the ferry without a second thought. Fortunately, the small vehicle was already chugging back towards her so she didn’t have to wait long to board.

  Only herself, three other girls and two RAF jumped in the boat. Albert – the bus driver – greeted them with his usual garrulous monologue and the bus lurched and creaked its way into town. The next train didn’t leave for an hour and a half and she wasn’t prepared to wait that long.

  She would hitchhike into Ipswich – everybody did it – although not usually on their own. Being in uniform meant that vehicles, and they were mostly nothing but service vans, cars and lorries, always stopped for you.

  She’d barely positioned herself with her thumb out before a large lorry containing a dozen noisy soldiers rumbled to a halt beside her. The driver, a smiling young man with a mop of black curls, beckoned her over.

  ‘You’d better come in with me, miss, I’ll not let a pretty girl like you travel with them blokes in the back.’ This remark was greeted by a raucous cheer and several unseemly remarks.

  Blushing furiously, she climbed in through the door he’d been leaning out of and settled in beside him. The third time he attempted to put his hand up her skirt she wished she’d gone in the back.

  ‘If you try that again, soldier, you’ll regret it. I have noted down your number and will write a formal complaint to your commanding officer.’

  His cheeky grin vanished. He slammed on the brakes, almost causing her to go head first into the windscreen. The swearing and crashing coming from the back meant those travelling there had been equally mistreated.

  ‘Stuck up mare, get out of me cab. I ain’t taking you nowhere.’

  She didn’t need telling twice and had the door open and was on the ground before he’d finished speaking. Her intention had been to rush round to the back and ask to be taken in there but she wasn’t given the opportunity. The door slammed and the lorry shot off covering her with dirt.

  The road was empty in both directions. He’d dumped her somewhere in the middle of the countryside and she had no option but to start walking. An ominous rumble of thunder made her look up. Heavy black clouds were rolling in from the sea and she hadn’t brought her mac with her. Part of the regulation uniform issue had included a strange garment that was half macintosh and half groundsheet.

  Even her passion killers were soaked before a smart black car pulled up beside her. The kindly old gentleman turned out to be a local doctor, which explained why he still had petrol for his vehicle.

  ‘You poor child, I hope you have a change of clothes wherever you’re going.’

  ‘Unfortunately, sir, I haven’t. But I’m sure I’ll dry off as soon as it stops raining. I apologise for making your seat wet.’ In fact she did have her flying kit but she had no intention of telling him that.