‘I wish you wouldn’t tell him. Hasn’t he got enough to worry about fighting the Germans? Wouldn’t it be better just to get on with things the way we think is best?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be right for me to make that sort of decision without him.’

  ‘Then, obviously, you’ll be telling him about our arrangement with the RAF? That we’ve got to get rid of Bates and his son, that I’m going to sell the horses?’

  ‘Of course I’m not going to tell him any of that. Anything to do with you is quite different, as well you know.’

  ‘If I’m old enough to run this house, do all the things that I do, then I’m quite old enough to make decisions about my own future. Anyway, I expect unmarried women will be conscripted at some point and I don’t want to be forced to do something I don’t want to by the government.’

  ‘I don’t wish to discuss it any further, Sarah. Did the girls enjoy themselves? Did you tell them they’d been sent to Manston in error?’

  ‘They had a splendid time and I think at least one of them will be seeing one of the airmen again. I didn’t need to tell them they were here by mistake – they already knew that.’

  Despite her daughter’s reservations, Joanna had written to her husband, asking his opinion about her becoming a nurse. If she asked Bates to post it on his way home, it should reach David in a week or so. Hopefully, there would be a reply before Sarah actually applied to the hospital in Ramsgate. Was she being disloyal to Sarah or being a good wife by sending the letter? Life had been so much simpler when David had been there to make the decisions.

  7

  Angus put the bolshie airman on fatigue duty. There was a mountain of snow to clear from the paths and he joined two others who’d also disgraced themselves last night. It was a bit like painting the Forth Bridge – as fast as they cleared it, more snow was coming down. Serve them bloody well right. They’d think twice about stepping out of line again.

  There was no point in getting the snowploughs out on the runway until the blizzard had passed. The Met report had forecast continuing snow and strong winds for the next few days. The bastard Germans wouldn’t be moving either as the weather was equally appalling over the whole of northern Europe. According to the chaps who knew about such things, this was the worst storm in living memory.

  The completion of the officers’ accommodation, mess and recreation room would obviously be stalled until the weather cleared. According to Tony, Squadron 600, the Blenheims and their Aussie crews, should have been posted to France but they were now staying put.

  There was a temporary kitchen installed in another room in this admin block with three members of the catering corps in charge. Angus had his own orderly, as did Tony, but the others had to share.

  The telephone on his desk jangled and he picked it up. ‘I’ve just had someone from the town council in Ramsgate on, sir, they want to know if we can help them out. They’re desperately short of manpower to clear the pavements and roads. Everything’s totally blocked.’

  ‘We’re not using the snowploughs at the moment so I don’t see why not. Round up some volunteers and we’ll do what we can. I’ll accompany them. If they’ve got a flight suit and boots then I suggest that they wear them.’

  Angus thought that there’d be more men prepared to brave the elements if they knew he was prepared to do so. He went in search of Tony and found him with his feet up on his desk, smoking a pipe and cradling a large mug of tea.

  ‘What ho, old boy. Something up? You look a bit agitated.’

  Angus explained what was going on but didn’t bother to ask for permission. Tony was so relaxed about the chain of command he might as well not be there.

  There was probably something in the rule book that forbade the wearing of flight gear for anything but flying. However, the conditions were arctic and it would be ludicrous to brave the elements in anything but the warmest clothes one had.

  The lorry trundled up fifteen minutes later. Although the canvas flaps were closed, from the racket inside he knew it was full. Angus scrambled into the front passenger seat, pleased to see that Jimmy was driving.

  ‘Anyone for the skylark? The blokes with the ploughs have already left. We need to get behind them or we might not get through. With the amount of snow falling, whatever we clear will be back before we’ve finished.’

  ‘Quite probably. I spoke to the Met chaps and they say we’ve got another couple of days of this. Then it might be another week before the roads are sorted.’

  ‘Bloody horrible weather even for Blighty. Pity the poor buggers with the BEF.’

  There was a path to the gates where the ploughs, each attached to the front of a tractor, had gone ahead of them. The lorry lurched and bumped but appeared stable enough. Obviously, the road through the village that led to Ramsgate was also being cleared.

  ‘There’s no hurry, Jimmy, better to let the ploughs do their job. Let’s hope they don’t come to grief on the steep hill into the town.’

  ‘Good thinking, Skip, I don’t think this vehicle will stop safely on a hill.’

  The lorry cab was freezing and Angus had to constantly lean forward and wipe the windscreen free of condensation. The men in the back were singing, more likely because they were cold than that they were enjoying the unexpected excursion. He recognised the shape of a huge building on the right which was just visible through the snow – they were passing Goodwill House. They shouldn’t be anywhere near it.

  Suddenly, Jimmy swore. ‘Christ, that’s the plough. I hope I can stop in time.’

  ‘The silly arse has turned off the road and taken us onto someone’s farm. I can see a gate blocking the path,’ Angus shouted above the grinding of the gears and roar of the engine. The lorry slithered sideways.

  ‘Hang on to something, boys, we’re going to hit the tractor,’ he yelled. Not a moment too soon, as with a hideous inevitability, they collided with the tractor.

  They were travelling no more than a couple of miles an hour but the impact was still heavy enough to cause damage. God knows what had happened to the poor sods in the back. He’d braced himself and was totally unscathed.

  From the swearing and noise coming from the passengers behind him, they hadn’t fared as well. ‘I’m going round to see if anyone’s hurt. Are you okay, Jimmy?’

  ‘Tickety-boo. Can’t say the same for this old girl. Even if she still drives after this shunt, I’ll not be able to turn round here.’

  ‘At least the tractor won’t be damaged and it can probably tow us back to base if necessary.’

  By the time he got around to the rear of the vehicle the flaps were open, the tailgate down and the men were starting to jump out looking none the worse for their experience.

  ‘Bloody hell, sir, this is a turn-up for the books. This don’t look like Ramsgate,’ one of the men said cheerfully.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t. We appear to be in the middle of a field – God knows where – but as long as nobody’s hurt it’s not the end of the world.’

  Some wag behind him answered. ‘No, sir, it ain’t. It’s a bleeding farm. No bugger’s been injured. Can’t say the same for a couple of the shovels, though.’

  Jimmy appeared at his side and he grabbed his arm. ‘I’m going to check on the chap driving the tractor. Why hasn’t he come round to see what damage we’ve sustained?’

  He yelled up at the cab but got no reply. He couldn’t see through the steamed-up windows if the driver was in there. Was that a moan coming from somewhere in front of him? The swirling snow made visibility all but impossible.

  Using the metal bars of the plough itself to guide him, he felt his way to the front. There was that sound again. His gut twisted. The man driving the tractor must have got out to open the gate and when the lorry hit the back of the tractor he’d been trapped underneath the big metal scoop.

  This was an absolute bloody disaster. Why in God’s name hadn’t it occurred to the bloke there shouldn’t be a gate across the road into Ramsgate? He dropped to his knees and shuffled forward, calling out as he did so.

  ‘We’ll get you out. Keep still until we lift the plough. Can you hear me? Are you badly hurt or just trapped?’ Bloody stupid thing to ask because the poor sod could quite easily be both.

  ‘It’s me bleeding leg, sir, I reckon it’s broken. I can’t move – someone will have to lift it off of me. If you try and back the tractor me bloody leg will come off.’

  It was Harrison – he recognised the voice. ‘I’ll get the men to do it. We’ve got more than enough here.’

  The girls had asked Sarah whether mealtimes could be more flexible if they were prepared to fend for themselves in the kitchen and she’d readily agreed. This meant she only had to prepare the vegetables and so on and leave them out for the girls to cook when they were ready to eat.

  It took an age to bring up sufficient fuel for all the fires but there was no one else to do it – if she was honest, she’d prefer to do the cooking and have the girls do the heavy work. Her mother drifted down at nine o’clock.

  ‘Good heavens, darling, haven’t they had their breakfast yet?’

  ‘No, in future they’re going to do it themselves when they get up. I’ve left everything ready. You’ll have to make your own toast as I’ve got to go and do the horses, feed the chickens and collect the eggs, if there are any in this weather.’

  ‘I think I can manage that. You’ve got smuts on your face but I don’t suppose it matters if you’re going to go out and shovel manure.’

  ‘It certainly doesn’t. It would be lovely to have a bath but I don’t suppose I’ll get the time so a strip wash will have to do.’

  She had on thick woollen slacks, long socks, thick knickers and a vest as well as two jumpers. Hopefully, with her overalls on over the top of all this and then a coat, she’d be warm enough. She couldn’t remember it ever having been so cold for so long and even people who liked snow couldn’t be enjoying this.

  The birds stayed in the barn in the winter where they had ample room to scratch and flap about. She took in the cooked potato peelings and bits and pieces from last night and then stirred in some grain. The chickens, ducks and geese greeted her with a cacophony of honking, quacking and clucking. They fussed around her feet, eager to be fed.

  By the time she’d refilled the water trough – which had frozen – and collected four eggs, she was feeling warm, which was a bonus. Her next and most important job was to feed the horses and muck out the stables.

  It was considerably warmer in this barn, where she was greeted with just as much enthusiasm. There were four empty stalls from the days when the family had kept teams of carriage horses as well as riding mounts.

  ‘Good morning, lady and gentlemen. Don’t make so much noise, I won’t be long.’ She piled fresh hay in the mangers of the three unoccupied stalls, put in fresh water and then moved each of the animals. It was much easier to muck out when there were no horses in there treading on your feet.

  They were rugged up, not at all bothered about having no exercise and fresh air. They seemed to sense that they were better off inside at the moment. It was just after eleven o’clock when she finally emerged, satisfied all three horses would be fine until late afternoon.

  As she was closing the door, she thought she heard voices. Who on earth could be out in this weather and why would they be in the home paddock? Fortunately, the wind had dropped a little although, with the snow falling heavily, she couldn’t see more than a couple of yards in front of her.

  ‘Hello, is there somebody out there? Follow my voice and it will bring you safely to Goodwill House.’ Her voice must’ve carried because someone yelled back.

  ‘We’re bringing an injured man. He needs urgent medical attention and the rest of us need somewhere to thaw out.’

  She recognised the voice. ‘Flight lieutenant, there’s enough room inside for everyone. I’ll keep shouting.’

  ‘I can see the building. Don’t hang about in the snow. We’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  Sarah all but fell indoors, shouting for assistance. ‘There are dozens of RAF arriving momentarily and one of them is seriously injured. I need everybody here.’

  She wasn’t sure if Angus would bring his men to the front or to the side door so she wanted somebody standing at both of them. There was no sign of her mother but all six of the WAAF arrived at the double.

  ‘Two of you put on all the saucepans and both kettles to boil. There are three teapots and we’re going to need all of them as well as all the mugs and cups you can find. We’re about to be invaded.’

  The other four waited expectantly to be told what to do next. No one argued with the fact that Sarah was in charge. ‘One of you at the boot room door and be ready to let them in if they arrive there and someone else at the front in case they come that way.’

  The remaining two she sent to light both fires in the drawing room while she went in search of her first aid kit and the bedding to turn the chaise longue into a bed for the patient. There was absolutely no chance of getting an ambulance or doctor to attend to the injured man so it would have to be her who dealt with it.

  Belatedly, her mother arrived from her sitting room. ‘Whatever’s all the fuss? I really don’t like you to shout like a fishwife, Sarah.’

  By the time she’d explained the emergency, her mother was fully involved. ‘I’ll organise the catering and the other necessities but you’ll have to see to whatever injuries this man has. Let’s hope that you being a fully qualified member of the St John’s ambulance is sufficient to deal with whatever injuries the poor fellow has.’

  ‘I can bandage, splint a broken limb, put on a sling and I’ve watched Dr Willoughby stitch gashes so I’m pretty sure I can do that too.’

  There was going to be barely time to gather everything she might need before Angus arrived. She dropped a metal tea plate, three silver needles, a pair of silver scissors, a wooden reel of silk thread and a pair of tweezers into one of the saucepans.

  ‘These need to boil for a couple of minutes. Can you take them out without touching them and bring them in to me on the tin plate that’s in there with them?’

  Before heading for the downstairs WC, she stripped off her outdoor garments and dumped them in the corner of the boot room. Then she scrubbed her hands and up to her elbows with soap and water and dried them on a clean towel. She shoved her arms into one of Betty’s cleanly washed and pressed wrap-around aprons. The best she could do in the circumstances.

  Angus and his men had arrived at the front door. Her patient was being carried on a stretcher, made from someone’s greatcoat, by four men. She hadn’t initially recognised one of the stretcher bearers as Angus as he was wearing his flying gear. A blast of icy air and snow whirled through the grand hall. Then there was no time to think about anything else as the space rapidly filled with dozens of RAF – some in flight suits like Angus but others in greatcoats.

  ‘Bring him through here. Where is he injured?’

  ‘Badly broken right leg.’

  Whilst the patient was being gently put on the bed she had made ready, she turned to the others. ‘Take off your outdoor garments and boots and give them to the WAAF – they’ll find somewhere to hang them until you need them. Then go to the far end of this drawing room – there’s plenty of seats but I’m afraid the fire’s not been alight for very long but it’s a lot warmer than outside.’

  Again nobody questioned her authority and one of the men in flying gear, obviously another officer, took charge of the process. ‘Thank you, ma’am, your help is much appreciated.’

  ‘The WAAF are making tea and will bring it through when it’s ready.’ She really couldn’t waste any more time issuing instructions, she needed to examine the man with a broken leg.

  To her astonishment, he was chatting away as if at a church picnic – although his language would have raised quite a few eyebrows.

  ‘Bleeding hell, ain’t this grand? Are we in a blooming palace or what?’

  ‘I’m glad to see you’re conscious. I’m Miss Harcourt – I’m the only medical help you’re going to get. I’m a fully qualified first-aider and hopefully can patch you up until an ambulance can get here.’

  Angus gestured that she step aside and talk to him in private before she examined the man. She ignored him. ‘Use the telephone, flight lieutenant, I’m sure there will be someone somewhere who can do whatever you think is necessary.’

  One of the girls came in holding the tin plate gingerly in a tea towel with the other items on it. ‘Well done; put it on the table there where I can reach it.’

  The screens were already arranged around the daybed so both she and the patient had privacy. The only person not bothered about being treated by her was the man with a broken leg himself.

  ‘Right, lovey, you do what you have to. You seem to know what you’re doing.’

  She pointed to a hovering airman. ‘Would you please remove the boot on his uninjured leg and his outer garments for me? I don’t want to contaminate my hands by touching anything apart from his injury.’

  Angus was seething. He could hardly pick the wretched girl up bodily and remove her but he was damned if he was going to let someone totally unqualified mess about with one of his men. Then he heard her issue her instructions and wondered if he’d misjudged the situation.

  He watched from a few yards away whilst she waited for two chaps to take off Harrison’s boot and greatcoat.

  ‘Let me have a look before you touch his damaged leg.’ The girl didn’t touch anything but stared down at the leg.

  ‘Make sure the laces are removed before trying to take off his boot. Cut it off if necessary. Here, use this knife to cut the seams of his trouser leg. Do it very carefully.’

  It was a compound fracture, he could see bone sticking out of the wound. She shouldn’t touch this or it could leave the man permanently lame.

  ‘I’m not qualified to straighten the leg and might well do more damage, Mr Harrison…’