Churchill's Angels Part 14

'Great, hold that thought.' Daisy was very happy as she hung the card over the string they had fixed to the wall behind their beds.

She broke off to say h.e.l.lo to three of their roommates who had just come in, soaked to the skin and freezing cold. The girls pulled off their wet uniforms, threw on their dressing gowns, and trooped out again to the showers.

'Poor lambs. I do hate rain dripping down the back of my neck, don't you? Now what thought was I supposed to hold?'

'Facetious.' With Adair's letter seeming to burn in her hand, Daisy asked the meaning. She did not mind asking Charlie for help. Charlie was a toff and had a wonderful education even spoke French as easily as she spoke English but she was ... nice. That was it. There was bound to be a word that explained it better but Daisy hadn't learned it yet. 'What's it mean, Charlie?'

'Difficult to explain, Daisy. It's saying that a person is not being serious, trying to be funny.'

'But if a person was to say you was facetious, it wouldn't be ... nasty or anything like that.'

'No. For instance, when I suggested that your friend was fishing in Scotland, I wasn't serious. I know perfectly well that she's working on the land, doing an absolutely tip-top job. I was being facetious.'

'So if you knew someone with a plane and he was giving it to the Government for the war and you asked him if he would throw things at the enemy out of it since it didn't have guns, that would be facetious?'

'Absolutely.'

'But he would know you was joking.'

'Yes, Daisy, your pilot knew you were joking.'

'He's not my pilot,' said Daisy with a happy smile, and sat down to open Adair's letter.

Dear Daisy, Nancy tells me you have joined the WAAF. Very well done.

I'll spend Christmas Day with Nancy and Alf. Can't thank them enough. They have been absolutely splendid since the house was closed. By the way, I believe it's going to be reopened as a convalescent hospital, War Office management, of course.

My lovely Daisy has been very busy over the last few weeks. The ATA pilots find her both roomy and dependable.

I'm not sure where I'll be stationed after Christmas but, one never knows, we may be close enough so that we can take to the skies again. I do like to pay my debts.

Have a happy, happy Christmas.

Adair P.S. The address at the top of this letter will always find me.

Adair. A pleasant quiver ran through her entire body. 'He doesn't owe me anything,' she said aloud.

At least five pairs of interested eyes were looking at her and she blushed furiously.

The shops, hotels, and churches of all denominations tried to encourage their members or patrons to plan for a happy Christmas. The Salvation Army played on the streets. Christmas music floated on the cold December air. Small bands of carol singers collected money for war wounded and for the elderly.

Rose's "keep-fit" group in the munitions factory collected spare change from their workmates for the many refugees who were flooding into Dartford from Belgium and Holland. Although the town was still dealing with almost daily air raids, one or two groups took their courage in both hands and sang or played in the open air, their senses attuned not only to their music but to warning sounds from the sky.

On a quick outing for her mother, Rose stopped to listen to some carol singers.

'Joy to the World,' they sang.

How, Rose thought, could there be joy to a world enduring such appalling conditions? She stopped walking to find some loose change for the collection box that was coming her way and then she saw an air force officer. Tall, too thin, grey eyes, black hair that was already a little bit grey. Could it be Daisy's foreigner pilot?

'Merry Christmas,' she said boldly. 'You look a bit lost. Can I help you?'

He smiled at her. 'How very kind. I am looking for the home of a young friend. It is, I think, a little shop for the groceries.'

It's lovely to have to look up into a man's eyes, thought Rose as she smiled at him. 'I thought so,' she said. 'You're Daisy's foreigner friend.'

'Daisy? Miss Petrie? I am indeed her foreign friend. Tomas Sapenak. And you, madame?'

Rose held out her hand. 'I am, believe it or not, her twin sister.'

He laughed, and what a pleasant laugh he had. 'The twin? How very nice to meet you, Miss Petrie.'

'Rose.'

Again he laughed. 'Daisies and roses; such pretty flowers, and so different. It is a pleasure to meet you.'

'Can I help you?' Rose saw some of her workmates pa.s.sing and smiled blindingly up at Tomas. Being seen with a senior officer, and such a good-looking one, would certainly cause some talk.

'I had some business at ... a factory and thought I might call. Is it possible that Daisy has leave?'

'I'm sorry, Tomas, not till March. She's hoping to get a twenty-four-hour pa.s.s sometime soon.' She shrugged. 'But who knows?'

'Ah, well, that is war. I am pleased to have met you, Rose, and I wish you a happy Christmas.'

'You too.'

He touched his hand to his cap. 'You will tell Daisy, no, you know where she is stationed. I did not ask Adair and it was only that I was here ...' His voice trailed off.

'Course I'll tell her, and she's at a place called Wilmslow. You know it?'

'It is famous. I will find it.' He touched his cap again and was gone.

Well, well, Daisy Petrie, two of 'em stuck on you. Lucky Daisy.

When she reached home Rose told her mother all about the foreign airman. 'He's sweet on our Daisy, Mum. Wonder what Adair wotsit will think of that?'

'Don't be daft, pet; Daisy said as he were old. She wouldn't be interested in an old man although, mind you, she was very fond of Mr Fischer.' She thought for a moment. 'He's foreign too.'

'I'm teasing. Tomas isn't old, and besides, our Daisy's in love with engines, not men.'

'Thank goodness for that.' Flora went back to trying to prepare mincemeat that might resemble, even in a small way, the mincemeat she had made before the war.

That night a plane limping back to Germany from a raid on London, jettisoned a bomb as it pa.s.sed over Dartford. The bomb destroyed a charity shop on the High Street. The remains of two people were found inside, the manageress, and a Canadian airman.

'What was Megan doing in the shop after closing hours?'

That question was asked in several homes. When the Canadian airman's body was found people drew their own conclusions. Some people were charitable and decided not to speak ill of the dead, but in many other homes gossip was rife.

'She always were a flighty piece. And where's that sister of 'er's? No better, I'll be bound, and no sister neither.'

'Daughter, I always thought. I mean, who's twenty years older than her sister? And would you believe, my ma said she never even went to meet the kid at the station. A nun brought her, didn't she, Gladys? Scrawny little thing, still is, even though them 'igh and mighty Petries and Brewers took her in.'

'An' where is she now, and her sister lying dead in all her shame? Just up and left, without a by-your-leave. In the family way, probable.'

Apart from the limited circle of small-minded people, the people of Dartford were kind, and no one kinder than 'the high and mighty Petries and Brewers'.

They could think only of one person. Grace. Megan had been a poor sister but, as far as anyone knew, she was Grace's sole relative.

'And the house was rented,' said Flora. 'What on earth will happen to Grace? Her sister's dead and now she has no home.'

'Who'll tell her?'

'The police, I think,' said Fred, 'but maybe it'll be someone in the army since the poor child's a land girl.'

'What a Christmas. There'll be a funeral and I expect Grace will get compa.s.sionate leave. With Daisy gone and my boys, we have plenty of room; she can come to us and welcome.'

'She's always spent Christmas with us,' Elsie Brewer, Sally's mother, reminded her.

'Of course, and now I have to let Daisy know. Maybe she'll get leave.'

'Not for a friend's sister, love,' Fred broke the bad news.

Daisy was devastated when she heard of the tragedy. She and Charlotte, together with the other residents of their billet, had been on a forced march and were exhausted, soaked to the skin, and hungry. Frau Fuhrer met them on their return.

'A moment, Petrie.'

All the girls stopped in distress. What could Daisy have done to be summoned?

Daisy was astounded to find herself seated beside a small electric fire and handed a very large cup of hot, sweet tea. 'Oh G.o.d, what is it? Who is it? It's Sam, isn't it, my brother, Sam?'

'Drink the tea, Petrie. It's none of your family. I'm afraid your vicar telephoned and asked me to tell you that a Megan Paterson was killed in an air raid and her sister, Grace, has been given compa.s.sionate leave to arrange the funeral.' She saw hope lighten Daisy's eyes. 'I'm sorry, Daisy. We can't give you leave. War doesn't stop, no matter how sad we are. Finish your tea, and then you had better go, have a good hot shower and then supper and bed.'

Daisy gulped down the tea and stood up. Poor Grace. Megan was hopeless as a sister but she was all Grace had. How she wished that there were some way to contact her. Where was she staying? Surely not in that ghastly damp little house. Mum would take her in, or Sally's mum. Thoughts raced around as she made her way back to the warmth of her billet.

'I'm sure all your lovely family and friends will rally round, Daisy.' Charlie had insisted that Daisy go straight to bed after her shower and she had then talked the cookhouse staff into allowing her to take a plate of nourishing stew into the billet. Charlie had supplemented this with a shot of brandy from the mess. 'Medicinal,' she had a.s.sured the barman.

Probably because she celebrated in ways that she had never done before, Daisy thoroughly enjoyed Christmas Day. There were services conducted by military chaplains and then a Christmas lunch that released usually untapped depths of culinary skill from the cooks. Wine was served and, for just a moment, there was a lump in Daisy's throat as she pictured her family, in the little kitchen in Dartford, drinking Adair's French wine. She thought about him, glad that he was with Alf and Nancy, who loved him, and she remembered, too, Sam, Phil, and Sally, Mr Fischer, and, of course, Grace.

'Penny for them, Daisy. You look so sad.'

'I were ... was thinking about all the people I miss.'

'Good. You have people to miss,' said Charlie. 'I would say that more than one of this riotous lot has no one. Now finish your pudding because I have a small surprise for you.'

Daisy looked around the room hung with gaudy paper garlands. Men and women wearing, in most cases, extremely unflattering paper hats were talking, laughing, singing. Was Charlie right? Were some of them hiding sorrows?

'They've found family here then, haven't they, Charlie?'

'Yes, they have. Now, let's go. I've told the girls in our billet to be back by five. We'll make our own tea on our wonderful stove. In fact, it's so hot, I swear we could have cooked the Christmas dinner on it.'

Both agreed that the huge black stove that stood on the concrete floor of the billet was an incredible source of heat. In fact Daisy had complained in a letter home that, since joining the WAAF, she was either too hot or too cold. But to come indoors after hours of hard work in pouring rain, wet through, cold and hungry, and to stand around the stove drinking hot sweet tea was an unqualified delight.

Now she hurried back to the billet with Charlie, apprehensive about the 'small surprise'. She prayed that it was not a Christmas present. She had been so involved saving up for family and her old friends Grace and Sally that to buy a present for Charlie had never occurred to her. There had been no money left over anyway.

'Right, let's get the food out. It's in the Fortnum parcel. You open that, but do open your mother's first and we'll just pile everything together, on a tablecloth, if we can find one.'

'A tablecloth?'

'Forget I said that. A blanket will have to do. We'll pin some holly to it to cheer it up.'

By the time the other residents had arrived, a delicious picnic was set out on the spare bed that had been hauled into the middle of the room. Flora's jam roly-poly sat side by side with smoked salmon and lobster pate. Daisy hoped she would not be the only WAAF never to have tasted such luxuries.

'Here, Daisy, this is for you, and I hope you won't be offended.'

Charlie, not looking her usual serene self, handed Daisy a small packet wrapped in silver paper and with a silver bow.

'Too pretty to open,' said Daisy.

'Quick, the others will be here in a sec and ... oh, Daisy, maybe I shouldn't have ...'

Charlie was as nervous as she was, thought Daisy, and she very carefully eased the silver ribbon off the silver parcel. She could practically hear Charlie's teeth grinding in frustration as she tried to open the parcel without tearing the paper. At last it was open. Inside was something wrapped in the softest of tissue papers.

'Tear it, for goodness' sake, Daisy; it's only paper.'

Daisy managed to unwrap the package without tearing the paper and gasped. Inside was a knickers and camisole set in pale blue silk embellished with delicate lace. Daisy looked at the gift for some time. She had never seen anything so beautiful, and of course had never dreamed of owning such underthings.

'Oh G.o.d, you hate it. Mummy said you'd be insulted. It's not new, you see, Daisy. They've never been worn. My G.o.dmother gave the set to me for my last birthday and, poor darling, hasn't had my size right in years.'

Her eyes wet with tears, Daisy tried to smile at the other girl, who was so obviously concerned about her. 'I don't hate it, Charlie. I've never owned anything so lovely in my life, and when you think about it, we're doing something for the war effort waste not want not.'

'Exactly what I thought.' The words almost exploded from Charlie. 'Waste not, want not.' She waited a moment as Daisy still sat touching the silk with one finger. 'You're not angry?'

Daisy shook her head. 'No. You're a very nice human being, Charlotte Featherstone.'

The girls, so alike and so different, stood for a moment looking at each other and then hugged spontaneously.

'Time to put the kettle on,' said Daisy, gathering up the underwear and the wrappings. 'You do that while I hide the prettiest knickers ever to be seen in this billet. Thank you, Charlie.'

They could hear the rather noisy arrival of their roommates as they hurried to complete the party celebrations.

'Oh, how lovely. Are we all welcome? I have a bar of chocolate I could contribute,' said one of the girls eagerly. 'Sorry it's not very much.'

'All donations welcome,' sang out Charlie. 'Especially if it's chocolate.'

Other donations were found in lockers and someone remembered seeing a gramophone in the gym and went off to see if it had already been taken. But they were in luck, and although dancing all the new dances, together with the old-fashioned ones, with another girl was not nearly so much fun as dancing with a man, no one dared defy Frau Fuhrer by trying to smuggle in one or two airmen.

Daisy managed to dismiss thoughts of Ron, who had given his young life for his country, Sam in his POW camp, Phil, somewhere on his ship, Grace, homeless and now without her sister, and even Mr Fischer, until much later that night as, too tired and too full of unusual rich food, she lay staring at the soft glow from the c.o.ke-fired stove. Around her she could hear light snoring and a few m.u.f.fled sobs and suddenly, as if a tap had been turned on, all the sadness came rushing in. I don't want to be miserable on Christmas night. What can I think about?

'Charlie? Are you awake?'