Gunner Girls and Fighter Boys (41 page)

‘I had a phone call from Iris. I was going back home next week to see her, been saving my leave, and now she’s cancelled. Says her mum’s ill and she’ll be busy with looking after her, so…’

‘That’s a shame, Bill, but it can’t be helped. You’ll just have to wait till her mum’s better.’ May tried to sound sympathetic, but there was no denying her heart had leaped at the idea he would be here, rather than in Bermondsey.

‘Suppose so. Oh, I don’t know… it’s not the first time this has happened.’ Bill rubbed at his forehead. ‘Shall I get us a drink?’

May found a table and when he came back with a pint for himself and a gin and bitter lemon for her, she asked him, ‘What did you mean, “it’s happened before” – is her mum ill a lot?’

‘No – I meant, Iris making excuses, putting me off. You know, May, I’m beginning to wonder if she’s found another chap.’

May fought a powerful impulse to enlighten Bill. Perhaps knowing about his fiancée’s GIs would free him from his sense of obligation, but what if he truly loved Iris? He did seem really cast down by not seeing her. Discovering the truth would devastate him. And if May truly loved him, how could she be the one to inflict such a blow?

‘Well, you ought to talk to her about it.’

‘How can I do that? I wouldn’t insult her with the question.’

‘Is asking any more of an insult than thinking it?’

Bill smiled at her over his pint glass. For the first time tonight, she could see the colour of his ocean-blue eyes. ‘You never did let me get away with much, did you? I’ll do it. I’ll take my leave anyway, and I’ll ask her straight out. Thanks for the advice, May.’

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. May heard instruments tuning up and silently cursed them, for they signalled Bill’s departure from her side. He drained his beer. ‘Duty calls!’ he said and she was left sitting at the table alone.

But her encounter hadn’t gone unnoticed and she was immediately pulled up on to the dance floor. It was Emmy, who grabbed her hands.

‘Come on, love, I’ll lead. Who needs a feller?’

And before she could protest, Emmy had launched into a frenetic quickstep, punctuated with military-style orders, which left May breathless and giggling.

‘Running eight!’ Emmy shouted in her ear in a sergeant-major roar. ‘Elevate, elevate!’ she ordered, charging through the crowd of dancers, who parted, applauding in their wake. Emmy might have the ability to put her foot in her mouth on occasion, but on the dance floor her feet were like wings and by the end of the dance, May had to agree.

‘You’re right, Em!’ she gasped, holding the stitch in her side. ‘Who needs a feller?’

*

The next morning May was on maintenance duty at the gun site, dressed in dungarees, boots and leather jerkin, for it could be a messy job. As team leader it was her responsibility to make sure the predictor machine was ready for action, and after parade and breakfast her team assembled at the gun emplacements. They polished the black metal predictor till it shone, then, with each of the girls in their places round the machine, checked that the calibration of the dials was spot on. The accuracy of their calculations was all important, for it was the predictor that determined when the fuse on the big guns was to be lit, and a fraction of a second could be the difference between a miss and a direct hit. After they’d finished at the instrument bunker they walked thirty yards across the field to where the big guns stood in their concrete pits, pointing skyward. Here, their next job was to polish the shells and check the fuses were in working order. The guns were becoming, if not old friends, then at least tamed beasts, dangerous yet familiar. It was May and her battery’s job to know their quirks and foibles, anticipate their oddities. Did they fire low or high? Were they slow to respond or quick? Each gun had its personality, likes and dislikes, and sometimes May wondered if she could ever explain to anyone not involved how much she’d learned to use her instinct in her work.

Granny Byron might understand, and would probably have been proud of her, for it was May’s job to predict the future. Where would the plane be, supposing it carried on at the same height and speed, and taking into account the time it took to ram home the shells and set the fuse? When would the gun need to fire in order to hit the target? Her dial told her the exact spot, then she would shout to the gunnery sergeant: ‘Fuse – one oh!’ He would shout back: ‘Fuse set – one oh! Target!’ and she would shout: ‘Fire!’ But she had noticed there was always the smallest fraction of a second before she allowed herself to respond, when she would wait for an inner silence amidst the blaring gunfire. Only in that moment of stillness would she shout: ‘Fire!’

‘Good work, Lance Corporal Lloyd,’ the gunnery sergeant said after inspecting their work.

‘Thank you, Sergeant. Permission to return to the hut.’ Sometimes, if the job was done quickly and well, he would allow them time off.

‘Not so quick, Lance Corporal. We’ve got a little surprise for you lot today.’

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the nerve-shredding screech of the klaxon alert echoed around the gun park. After a second’s hesitation, she sprang forward, calling, ‘A-team, action stations!’ Grabbing the tin hat slung across her back, she clamped it on to her head, and hurtled back to the instrument bunker. She could hear Ruby puffing behind her, but long-legged Bee was already outstripping them.

‘Bloody practices!’ Emmy panted, catching her up. ‘Don’t we have enough of the real thing!’

They scooted to a halt at the bunker. May, leaping over the sandbags, shouted: ‘Positions, everyone!’ And in seconds their heads were down, peering through the eyepieces. May checked her screen, ready for the height-and-range-finder girls to call the approaching plane’s position to them. Soon she heard the distinctive hum of a practice plane, trailing its billowing scarlet drogue across a cloudless sky. May always thought the pilots of these practice planes deserved a special medal, their lives in the hands of often novice ack-ack girls.

‘All right, girls, let’s not blow his tail off!’ the sergeant ordered.

May knew her team didn’t deserve the sergeant’s warning, for in action they’d been responsible for more direct hits than any other in the battery.

‘Bloody cheek of the man,’ May heard Mac mutter. ‘I’ll blow
his
damn tail off.’

‘Let’s show him then,’ May replied.

‘Target!’ The height and range were relayed to them as May concentrated on the moving fingers on the dial in front of her. Calculating wind speed and the plane speed, she set the fuse time.

‘Fuse – three oh!’ she shouted the settings to the gunnery sergeant, who relayed them to the guns. The clatter of shells being rammed home was followed by the rumble of the guns wheeling into position.

‘Fuse – three oh! Set!’ roared the sergeant.

And then came the instant of stillness, before May shouted, ‘Fire!’ and the man between her and the guns echoed ‘Fire!’ too.

In unison the barrels spat flame and thunder into the air. All the girls’ tin hats tilted back as they followed the shell’s trajectory.

‘Direct hit!’ the sergeant called as the drogue disappeared from the skies.

‘How’s that, yer bugger!’ Mac shouted, and winked at May.

After firing practice they were dismissed, but as they turned to go, the sergeant called May back.

‘What was all that about?’ He appeared furious. ‘Have you got no respect for army property!’

Now she knew she was in for it. ‘Sorry, Sarge.’

It was ironic really. May’s instinct had been spot on, but in practice the idea was to approximate a direct hit without actually destroying the expensive drogue. But she was amazed to see the sergeant break into a broad smile.

‘At ease, Lloyd, you’ve got a crack team there, smooth as knicker silk. I’m recommending you for another stripe.’

May flushed with pride. The hard-won recognition made up for all the cold nights on the gun site and all the early mornings on parade. ‘Thanks, Sarge!’ she said, and ran after her friends. But by the time she’d reached the edge of the field they had disappeared. Instead she came face to face with Bill, who was wheeling his bike towards her.

Her heart lurched. He looked as if someone had died. ‘Have you had bad news?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Can you borrow a bike?’

May gave him a puzzled look. ‘Yes, I can get a bike.’

‘Fancy a ride up to Hainault Forest?’

She had the afternoon off now and the day was warm. Besides, her team’s triumph on the guns today, along with her promotion, had filled her with a rare and almost reckless excitement. Whether he was engaged or not, she was going cycling with Bill, and after a brief hesitation she said, ‘Let’s go to the depot. But I’ll have to change first. I’m not going out in these dungarees!’

Back at the hut she changed quickly into slacks and a pretty blouse. After checking out a bike for herself, they were soon pedalling side by side along the straight road to Hainault Forest. It was good weather for a bicycle ride, with a strong wind behind them, which helped them up the ridge ahead, to where a line of trees edged the forest. She was enjoying the sensation of covering so much ground so effortlessly. Every now and then, as they cycled, Bill would point out a feature in the landscape, an old oak tree standing alone, or a pretty weatherboard cottage, but though she wondered what could have brought him to see her she didn’t probe him about his news.

They finally stopped outside a small tea room, in a clearing deep in the forest. May’s ears had been ringing from the noise of the guns this morning and, in spite of the earplugs, she sometimes wondered if she’d end up deaf. But now, in the silence of the clearing, the ringing faded and all she could hear was the rustling of leaves as the wind took hold of the trees in a swirling dance. Borne on the wind were the forest smells: leaves and bark warmed by the afternoon sun; sappy grass from a nearby meadow where ponies were grazing. The cordite stench that still clung to her hair was blown away and the world felt so fresh and clean she would have liked to join the ponies who’d decided to roll around in the grass.

They found a table outside the tea room, which was a popular one, and with tea and cake in front of them May finally asked Bill what was troubling him.

‘I had a letter from Mum.’ He took it from his tunic pocket. ‘Here, read it.’

The letter was a short one, beginning with the usual motherly questions about his health, but quickly turning to the state of his heart. May read:

I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Bill, but somebody must. The fact is your Iris has been messing around with GIs over the West End. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, love, if I didn’t know full well it was true. It’s all over Atkinson’s, she’s so brazen about it. I know you would have stuck by your promise to her, even though you’ve not seemed happy with her, son. But I’m not having you wasting your life on someone who’ll do this to you. So, I’m sorry if I’ve spoken out of turn, but it’s only because I know your heart belongs to someone else anyway. It’s not for me to say, but you only get one life, son, and it’s my belief you may as well spend it with the right one.

All my love, Mum

May handed the letter back to Bill. Her mouth had gone dry and she took a gulp of tea before speaking.

‘Oh, Bill, I’m sorry you’ve had to hear this. You must be so unhappy.’

He looked at her for a long moment. ‘No, May, the strange thing is, I’m not unhappy at all. I’m relieved.’

His mother had said that Bill’s heart belonged to someone else, and now the thought brought a flush to her face.

‘Relieved?’

Bill caught her hand. ‘Mum’s always been able to see right through me, May. I showed you the letter because I wanted you to see what the person who knows me best thinks. It’s the truth – all the time I’ve been with Iris, my heart’s been somewhere else…’ His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘It’s been with you, May.’

May let his words sink in. Then, as if she were slowly unwrapping a longed-for present, she let him glimpse the edges of her joy. She smiled shyly. ‘With me?’

His eyes alone, full of an anxious hope, were enough for her to abandon all her wary instincts, and with a surge of happiness, she leaned across the table and whispered, ‘And my heart has been with you…’

‘Oh, May, I’d kiss you right now, but…’ Bill looked round at the other diners and May smiled at him. In spite of her overflowing heart, he knew her shy ways.

‘Come on! There’s something I want to show you.’ He grabbed her hand and left money for the tea and cake on the table.

She asked where they were going, but he smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s a surprise,’ he told her.

They retrieved their bikes and wheeled them further into the forest. When they were out of sight of the café, Bill stopped at a spreading tree. It was magically encircled by a perfect fairy ring of large, pale, flat-topped toadstools. She gasped. She’d never seen anything like it. The circle must have been at least twelve feet across and within it was a lawn of springy grass. Enchanted, she walked closer to examine the ring.

‘Do you think the fairies live under these?’ she whispered, bending down to look beneath one of the toadstools.

‘I expect so,’ he said, obviously pleased with her delighted reaction.

They dropped their bikes and as he led her into the charmed circle Bill caught her round the waist, and the woodland sounds were replaced by the pounding of her own heart beating against his chest. Then she looked up into his eyes, which in an instant became all the world for her.

‘I’ve loved you for so long,’ he said, and brushed her lips with his. It was the softest sensation, yet far more powerful than anything she’d experienced with Doug. It was as if every loving thought she’d ever had for Bill passed between them in that one, brief kiss. And he drew back from her, smiling. ‘You love me too?’ he asked. Tears of happiness caught in her throat, but he waited for her answer.

‘Oh yes, Bill, always.’

Then he drew her down on to the sunlit patch of grass beneath the tree, and their kisses seemed to last forever, the only inhabitants in a magical kingdom of their own creating, where time and war had ceased to exist.