Churchill's Angels Part 22

'Happen you're right,' said Daisy as they hugged goodbye. But I don't think you are, she said to herself as she walked briskly home.

'Had a nice chat?' her father asked as she came into the shop.

'Lovely, but Sally's mum's lost weight.'

'I hope you told her you noticed. She's right proud of it because she's taking a cla.s.s at the YWCA.'

'There never was anything of her before.'

'Thin lot, all her family.' He took his chamois leather cloth from under the counter and moved over to wipe a squashed fly off the display window. 'There's a brown envelope for you, Daisy. Mum's got it.'

'Oh, great. Fantastic.' She started for the stairs.

'You're so keen to leave us, love?'

Daisy stopped and turned to him. 'Never. I was scared I'd been told and lost the information. Talk later.' She turned again and fled upstairs.

The message was more or less the same as the initial one. Aircraftswoman Petrie was to travel by train a travel warrant was included to RAF Halton in Buckinghamshire, where she was to take up her new duties.

The much-used atlas was pressed into service by an excited Daisy. She knew that RAF Halton was a major technical training school that had, in fact, been established during the Great War. But where exactly was Buckinghamshire, and where was the town of Wendover or indeed the little village of Halton?

She was delighted to find that her new base was only thirty-five miles or so from London. That meant visits home during her eighteen weeks of training might not be impossible. That would please her parents.

FOURTEEN.

Two days later Daisy arrived at RAF Halton but, this time, she was not with one other slightly nervous recruit. The railway station was wall-to-wall blue uniforms, both men and women. She looked round hopefully but there was not a single face that she even remotely recognised. Her grief at Charlie's loss welled up more powerfully than ever and she fought desperately to control herself. Had Charlie been there she would have been making friends all over the place, but Daisy was not Charlie.

Daisy picked up her bags and followed the heaving ma.s.s of humanity out of the station. She travelled to the base on a bus that, like the station, was crowded, and the noise level reminded her of her one and only school trip to London. How her teenage friends had shouted and sung. Enough to give anyone a headache.

'Bella White.' The WAAF in the window seat introduced herself. 'You look like a rabbit caught in headlights. Relax. They're nervous.' She held out her hand and Daisy shook it.

'Daisy Petrie,' she said.

They chatted all the way to the camp, as Bella was not slow to ask questions or to tell part of her personal history if the conversation lagged. She was twenty years old, lived with her mother and grandmother in Derby and had worked as the receptionist in an office. She could type, did not take shorthand, could file, and was used to making and receiving telephone calls.

'My boyfriend told me he preferred my cousin, Sheila. He had to, since I found them ... let's say in a fairly compromising situation when I visited my aunt Flo's flat. Two years I walked out with him and didn't allow no funny stuff, not without a ring on my finger. Seems Sheila's allergic to base metals. So I joined up, left them high and dry. You have a lad?'

Daisy, who was not quite sure what the unknown Sheila's allergy had to do with anything, said, 'I'm not walking out with anyone.'

'Well, there's plenty of spare men around Halton; you'll soon find one.'

Daisy wondered if Bella had enlisted simply because of the abundance of unmarried men. She would not ask but was quite sure Bella would have told her had she dared or cared.

'I was a shop a.s.sistant before I enlisted,' she said, 'but I always wanted to do something more exciting. Being a receptionist in an office must have been quite interesting.'

'Bored me silly. I joined the WAAF because I thought it would be more fun really thought they'd plonk me behind a typewriter. Just think, maybe I could have typed a letter to Mr Churchill, but they said I showed apt.i.tude for engineering. Don't know that I believe them; my mum read in the paper as how they just can't get enough technicians to keep our planes in the air. Well, I'm not stupid and I don't mind working hard. This war's giving a lot of us a chance to better ourselves. What kind of shop did you work in department store, I should think by looking at you.'

'Me in a department store? No, Bella. I worked in a small grocery shop; dried peas, porridge oats, eggs, tea, just the things families need every day.'

'You've got a look of cla.s.s, not cla.s.s like that frozen pea over there ' she pointed to a young woman in a really beautiful two-piece costume 'but still cla.s.s.'

Daisy had no idea whether or not to say thank you but by then they had arrived at the camp.

If she had thought Wilmslow large, RAF Halton was endless, and she laughed a little as she thought of herself and Charlie hobbling up the main road at Wilmslow in their best shoes. They wouldn't catch her this time. She was a seasoned WAAF, in good st.u.r.dy military-issue shoes.

Hours later she lay exhausted in her bed in a large hut with twenty or so other women. Bella was not among them and she hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry. Snores and the lighter noises made by sleepers whistled around the long bare room, and Daisy lay waiting for sleep, missing her family, thinking of Adair and too aware of her resurrected grief at Charlie's death.

Do it for Charlie. The voice echoed in her head together with her own promise to an unknown little child on Dartford Heath. Excitement grew in her. She had pa.s.sed one hurdle and was now even closer to her dream. In eighteen weeks, a mere four and a half months, she would be fully qualified to work on aircraft engines.

But was that all she wanted? Was it even remotely possible that one day she might fly, not a Spitfire or a Lancaster but a small plane like the Daisy? But how? There were no pilots in the WAAF, and the Air Transport Auxiliary was staffed by civilians. Had she enlisted too quickly?

She lay for some time looking at positives and negatives. There were so many positives. In the WAAF she had learned skills and she had found and lost a friend. Do you like me enough to kiss me, Daisy? The voice echoed in her head and she smiled at the very sound. Surely being a WAAF had brought her closer to Adair, and made it easier for her to have another flying lesson. Halton looked as if it was stacked with aircraft. Perhaps here, there would be more opportunities. Excitement at that blissful thought was making sleep impossible, but with her first full day on the course ahead of her she needed to sleep.

She turned over onto her right side, her favourite sleeping position, but the last thought she had before finally falling into a disturbed sleep was, once again: the ATA is a civilian organisation. How could that be overcome?

The next three days were soon a blur in her memory, so full were they of activity and change. She began to recognise some of the other women and girls in her hut and in her unit. Mainly they were known by their surnames, as that is how the instructors addressed them. It seemed that she never sat beside the same WAAF twice in a row at a cla.s.s or even in the mess hall, and had totally forgotten Bella until they found themselves in the same line for dinner.

'Great camp, Daisy, don't you think? A swimming pool and a cinema, for starters, and have you seen the Officers' Club it's a stately home, for goodness' sake I'd love to get in there. I'm going into Aylesbury on Sat.u.r.day to buy a swimming costume. Come with me and we can come back in time for the "Welcome New Recruits" dance.'

Daisy had no wish to hurt Bella; she had been very kind and friendly on the bus, but she wanted to really know her way around before she made decisions about friendships or anything else. 'I haven't got my bearings yet, Bella; I was planning to have a good look around and to write letters at the weekend, but thanks.'

'Suit yourself.'

'How are you enjoying the course?'

Bella smiled. 'Haven't a clue, but one of the mechanics is giving me a bit of extra help. He might come in with me on Sat.u.r.day. I could ask him to bring a mate.'

'Not this Sat.u.r.day, Bella, maybe another week.'

'So you are as stuck up as Miss Frozen Pea. Your loss,' said Bella, and turned away to start picking up her meal.

Feeling rather miserable, Daisy had no choice but to follow her and when she had her selection she walked around the hut looking for a seat.

'Seat here, Petrie,' called a WAAF, waving madly.

Thankfully Daisy sat down at a table where several WAAFs were seated and, thankfully, recognised two from her billet. It was the most enjoyable meal she had had since she arrived. The food was ... nourishing, she decided was the best word to describe it, but with the two girls, Joan and Maggie, introducing themselves and all the others calling out their names and smiling a welcome she began to feel part of the camp.

In one of their first lectures the recruits had been told much of the history of the base. It had been a private estate owned by the de Rothschild family. Before the Great War, the then owner had offered the estate to the army for summer manoeuvres. His initial generous offer had expanded as the war had gone on, and in 1917 a technical school had been established on the estate. By the end of the war, thousands of well-trained technicians had pa.s.sed though its doors. In 1919 the estate was bought by the War Office to be the training base for officer cadets in the newly formed Royal Air Force.

Daisy could hardly believe that her own Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, had been a key figure in the forming of the air force.

Dad'll be fascinated by that, she thought, him being a big fan of Mr Churchill, and just think, because of something our Prime Minister said before I was even born, I'm here learning a life-changing trade and so are thousands of other people, men and women.

She was more excited and inspired than ever. Even if she never flew she would help keep planes flying, and all those pilots would be thinking of people like the boy on the Heath, his mum, Charlie and her dad.

I'm here to learn, she told herself, and that comes before any old swimming pool.

It was her training instructor who talked to her about mixing business and pleasure.

'You're doing well, Daisy, you're a natural, but I never see you around the base or going into Wendover or even Halton; nice little village. All work and no play. Not good. I am ordering you to go to the cinema on Friday night. Errol Flynn's on. You women like him.'

'Not as much as he likes himself, Corporal. James Stewart, now ...'

'I don't care who it is, girl. Go to the cinema.'

Daisy looked at him. Corporal Singer was not all that much older than she was, ten, fifteen years maybe. He was not much taller either, which some of the girls said spoiled his chances. Daisy did not think height or age would concern her too much if she really liked someone, and Corporal Singer was likeable. He was terrific at his job; there was nothing about aircraft engines that he did not know and, possibly more importantly, he was very patient. Once or twice one of her fellow WAAFs had burst into tears of frustration but the trainer merely continued calmly and allowed the girl to recover without making a show of her. Not all the trainers were patient. Many, in fact, made it clear right from the start that they had no tolerance for women in the services, except as cooks and cleaners. That att.i.tude often led to hostility.

Desperate as she was to finish the course successfully, Daisy decided that she would accept the corporal's suggestion and take some time off from her studying. She liked swimming but had no costume with her and so, for the moment, swimming was out. Thanks to Mr Brewer she had seen all the films advertised in the base cinema but she looked at the Recruits' Notice Board to see what else might be on offer.

A visit to a local Jacobean mansion, named Hartwell, was advertised. It sounded just the type of activity that she thought she would enjoy. She loved Dartford's historic past and here, on the very edge of the camp, was a building where an exiled French king had lived and where his wife had died.

'Imagine that,' she said out loud as she read the notice, and almost jumped out of her skin when a voice behind her said, 'Imagine what?'

Two girls from her hut, Joan and Maggie, had come up behind her quietly.

'Wow, you two frightened the life out of me.'

'Do you always stand talking to yourself, Daisy? Reprehensible conduct unbefitting a WAAF.' Maggie, whose vocabulary was right up there with Charlie's, was laughing to show that she was joking.

'Look at that, girls,' Daisy said, pointing to the notice. 'There's a tour of this house, Hartwell mansion. It says it's Jacobean; that's got to do with kings, isn't it, not architecture.'

'Probably both, but I didn't do much history at school. I remember bits about the Romans and lots about Cavaliers and Roundheads. And When Did You Last See Your Father?'

Since the looks on the faces of Daisy and Joan clearly asked, 'What are you talking about?' Maggie finished off, 'It's the architecture that was in fashion during the reign of the first King James.'

'It's got lovely gardens too,' said Daisy.

'Then let's rent bicycles and go over on Sat.u.r.day.'

Daisy was pleased to have something planned for her free time that should please the corporal but she still wanted to get her letters written. As yet, she had not told Sally of her visit to her parents, and she really must write to her mother. She would love to hear about the proposed visit to the historic house. Hartwell, such a lovely name. She wondered if it had originally been spelled Heartwell, perhaps something to do with how living in or even seeing such a lovely place would make hearts feel well.

Probably totally wrong, Daisy Petrie, she told herself and looked forward to finding out for sure on the following Sat.u.r.day.

At the end of cla.s.ses next day she told Corporal Singer of her plans.

'Great idea. You're not going by yourself, are you?'

'No, Corporal, two girls from the same hut are going with me.'

'Good, company's more fun,' he said, but for a moment she felt that her answer had disappointed him.

Was he going to say he'd come too? No, don't be conceited, Daisy. What would I have said if he had asked to come?

But that was something she definitely did not want to think about.

She recognised the writing on one of the letters that were handed to her that evening but not on the other. One was from her mother and could wait a moment. She looked at the other letter, tried to decipher the postmark, even smelled it, but it told her nothing.

'Are you going to read it or eat it, Daisy?' asked Joan, who had managed to push herself into the supper line beside Daisy. 'Maggie's saving us seats.'

'I don't know who it's from.'

'A secret admirer. Looks very masculine writing to me. C'mon, by the time we get to what's left of the pork, you can have read it and answered it.'

Daisy laughed and slit open the envelope.

Inside was one sheet of very thin writing paper. The address of another air base was printed on the top right-hand corner.

Dear Daisy, Adair is now at the rehabilitation unit address and telephone number at the end of the letter. He can't write as he still hasn't the use of his right hand, but he would be very happy if you would write to him from time to time, or if you would ring him any evening or send him the telephone number of your nearest telephone booth and he will ring you.

He is, he says, almost back to full strength he is not, it will take a little more time and is hoping to be flying soon. He would like to hear about your courses.

Be well, Daisy It was signed 'Tomas'.

She waited to share it until they were seated. 'It's from a friend of a friend who was injured recently.' She could never tell her two new friends that the friends were both senior air force officers. 'I'd better write to cheer him up.'

'Him? How exciting. Tell us everything. Is he in the army? Where is he stationed? Is he in hospital? Is he handsome? Is he rich? How old is he? Can we be your bridesmaids? Will they let you stay in the WAAF now that you're getting married?'

The silly but good-natured questions were fired at her like bullets out of a gun. She chose to answer the one she thought the silliest. 'No, you may not be my bridesmaids.'

As she had expected, her answer resulted in loud, mainly incomprehensible protestations, in which the words 'utter selfishness' featured heavily.

'The other letter is from my mother and a postal order for five shillings is enclosed. We can have a fabulous tea at this Hartwell place.'

Daisy applied herself to her supper and thought about her letters while the talk swelled and sank around her. Her mother had also said that Alf had come in to tell her that Adair Maxwell had been moved. Flora had been unable to resist adding, 'It's for the best, pet.'

What did her parents fear from Adair? Daisy could count on her fingers the number of times they had met. Surely her parents did not expect a lifetime of commitment to be built on a few meetings. She, Daisy, admitted to her private self that Adair was very important to her, but surely her parents could see that he was moving cautiously too. As always, the memories of their kisses filled her with hope and longing, but she had been raised in a hard school and did not expect to have something very special handed to her on a silver plate.

'h.e.l.lo, calling Aircraftswoman Petrie. We've asked you twice if you want Spotted d.i.c.k for pudding.'

'Sorry, thinking about my mum's letter. She still hasn't heard from the Red Cross about my brother. He was captured at Dunkirk but has escaped and we don't know where he is.' Flora had mentioned her concern over Sam in the letter. 'You two would be mad for Sam. Tall, handsome, fair hair.'

'Lead us to him, but first Spotted d.i.c.k?'

'No, thanks, really hate raisins and sultanas.'

The three of them walked around the camp after supper. It was so vast that they were still unsure of directions, but once more it was a lovely evening and it was a joy just to stroll. So far there had been no air raids although they had had practice sessions that had mainly meant diving into great trenches. To someone from the Bomb Run of Kent it seemed very peaceful.

Daisy sat on her bed waiting for her turn in the shower and thought about a letter to Adair. Would a telephone call be easier? But Tomas had not said how late recuperating patients were allowed to stay up. She would telephone him the next evening, just before dinner. In the meantime she would study her notes on bombers.

The next evening Daisy made sure that she had plenty of pennies, although Maggie had a.s.sured her that three pence would probably be enough, and went off to make her telephone call. In her life Daisy had made very few telephone calls and was nervous, not only of speaking to Adair although every fibre of her being longed to hear his voice but also of the very practical aspect of putting in the correct number of pennies and of pressing the correct b.u.t.ton. She read the instructions on the telephone very carefully, fed in her pennies and pressed b.u.t.ton A.