Bluebirds (4 page)

‘What things?'

‘Well, why don't we get married now? Let's not wait any longer. Lots of people are gettin' married because of the war. It says so in the papers. We could get married soon as you like.'

‘But where would we live?'

He had said awkwardly: ‘With Mother . . . just for the time bein'. Just 'til we got settled.'

They had reached the end of the track and stopped at the gate that led into the ten-acre field. She had looked
away from him across the corn stubble towards the line of elm trees on the far side and the spire of Elmbury church against the skyline.

‘I don't think I could live with your mother, Ken. I don't think she likes me.'

‘Course she does. She's just funny about things sometimes. Set in her ways. She's been a bit like that since Dad died.'

‘I don't think she'd want you to get married yet. And I don't think it'd work – her and me together.'

‘We could try and find a place of our own then – a room or two somewhere in the village. I could still help Mother in the shop.'

‘We couldn't afford it, Ken.' She had turned round to face him. ‘Let's just wait, like we always said we would. No sense in rushin' things. We're only eighteen, both of us. There's plenty of time. And I want to do somethin' else with my life first, before we settle down.'

He had said bewildered: ‘You never used to talk like this, Winn. I've never heard you say anythin' like this before.'

‘I haven't thought about it much before, to tell the truth. It's the war's made me think. And talkin' to that lady at the recruitin' place. She made me think a lot. She said things about the Women's Air Force . . . It's goin' to be very important, she said – for England. She said it'd be a chance for women to do somethin' to help win the war.'

‘She wanted you to join, that's all. Gave you a lot of sweet talk.'

‘No, 'twasn't just that. She meant it. Besides, they've lots of volunteers. There was a great long queue of them. No, 'twasn't just that.'

She had leaned her arms on the top of the five-barred gate. It had been a lovely September. The ten-acre field had looked very beautiful in the evening sunlight, with the harvest stubble like a golden carpet and the skies all pink. A cool little breeze had ruffled her hair. The rooks had been cawing away in the elms and the church clock
had chimed in the distance. It had been so peaceful that it had seemed silly to be talking about a war. Hard to believe there was one on. She had gone on looking up into the skies.

‘I'll tell you what I'd really like to do, Ken, if you promise not to laugh at me.'

‘'Course I won't.'

‘I'd like to work with the aeroplanes – help look after the engines, an' that. That's why it's got to be the Air Force, see. I love aeroplanes. I watch them fly over here when I'm out in the fields . . . Royal Air Force ones with those rings on. I'd give anythin' to go in one. Just imagine bein' high up there in the sky, soarin' through the air, just like a bird. I want to do that one day, more'n anythin'.'

Ken had stared at her, more bewildered than ever. ‘But they'd never let you. They'd never let you near an aeroplane – not to go in, nor even
touch
the engine, Winn. That's men's work.'

‘They want women to take over men's work. That's what the lady told me. She said: “We're goin' to train you to do their work, so's they can go to the Front. Three women to do two men's work”, that's what she said.'

‘Not to look after the aeroplanes, though.'

‘Why not?'

He had scuffed at the earth with his foot. ‘I told you, that's men's work. You couldn't do it.'

She had said stubbornly: ‘I
could
, Ken. I'm sure I could. I'm good with machines. I can mend the Fordson and no-one's ever taught me how. I got it goin' once when Dad couldn't.'

‘But that's only a tractor. Aeroplanes are a lot different. Must be. Stands to reason.' Ken had looked miserable. ‘It don't seem right to me, Winn, you feelin' like this. None of it seems right.'

He had not understood at all. And now all those thoughts and ideas of hers seemed stupid too. The RAF didn't want them here, except to whistle at and laugh about. Ken had been right. They'd never let her near the
aeroplanes. She might as well have stayed in Elmbury. She needn't have married Ken just yet, not 'til they could have a place of their own, but she could have gone on helping at home and on the farm. Dad only had old Jack with his rheumatism now. She thought of her little attic room. If she were there now she'd be able to hear Mum and Dad moving about downstairs. She'd hear the creak of Dad's heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs as he trudged up to bed, Mum's lighter tread, their door latch clicking, their voices in the room below. She'd be able to hear Gran snoring, maybe Ruth or Laura calling out, the mice pattering in the wainscot, Rusty barking in his kennel in the stackyard below . . .

Thinking about it all was Winnie's undoing. Her throat tightened with wretchedness and she turned her face into the bolster and wept.

Felicity Newman was awake in her room in empty warrant officers' married quarters. Sleep was impossible. There was too much to think about. Too much to worry about. The conditions for the recruits were far from satisfactory – damp and leaking sleeping quarters, sordid ablutions, no proper mess of their own, a recreation hut with almost no furnishings at all, let alone comforts, a bleak little backroom in the NAAFI . . . In her notes for guidance it stated clearly that a WAAF officer was responsible for procuring the best living conditions available for the airwomen in her charge.
Officers will, in all cases, consider the health of airwomen and give special attention to cleanliness, sanitation, fresh air, adequate space, recreational facilities
 . . . She herself had been as segregated from the RAF officers as the airwomen had been from the airmen, her meals served in the Ladies' Room of the Officers' Mess, while Sergeant Beaty had been isolated in some far corner of the Sergeants' Mess.
You will form an integral and vital part of that great Service
. . .

She had enjoyed her officers' training course – the
interesting lectures, the drill, the companionship – and she had not seriously doubted her ability to do the job; until now. She re-lived her interview with Wing Commander Palmer, seeing again his icy stare and hearing his harsh voice.
Just exactly what are you women supposed to be doing here, Company Assistant Newman? Perhaps you can explain that to me
. She had been as timid and nervous as a school girl and the Wing Officer would have been sadly disappointed in her.
The duty of a WAAF officer is to ensure co-ordination between the Women's Auxiliary Air Force and the Royal Air Force . . . to act as an adviser on WAAF matters to the Station Commander . . . I will not tolerate any interference with the efficient running of RAF Colston
 . . . She had been equally green and ineffectual with the airwomen, allowing all that giggling to go on unchecked.
WAAF officers will be responsible for maintaining discipline in their detachments
 . . . And what on earth was to be done about their clothes?
Smart appearance is the first step towards smart discipline
 . . . But the fact remained that there was no uniform at all available for the recruits. None. And no prospect of any coming soon. She had had her own privately tailored.
The WAAF officer must make herself responsible to the Royal Air Force Commanding Officer for the efficiency, discipline, well-being and training of WAAF personnel under his command . . . I did not ask for you. I do not want you. I do not believe that your place is here, or that you could possibly replace my men
. . .

A heavy vehicle whined past outside, its tyres swishing on the wet road. The sound died away and it was quiet again. It was a long while, though, before Felicity slept.

More than sixty miles away from RAF Colston, Virginia Stratton was also lying awake in her back bedroom in a downstairs flat in Wimbledon, South London. She was still badly upset by the scene with her mother. She had arrived home from work much later than usual that evening and had let herself in very quietly, stopping to
hang up her hat and coat in the hall and to peer at herself in the mirror on the stand. It had been raining hard and she had tried to put her hair to rights, re-fixing the combs that held it back on each side of her head. Then she had stood for a moment in the dim hallway, hands clasped, trying to steady herself.

‘Is that you, Virginia? You're very late.'

Mother's voice had sounded querulous and she had gone quickly into the kitchen. Cooking always tired Mother. She wasn't used to having to do it at all, as she frequently pointed out, but she would always insist on preparing a three-course meal in the evenings. And the table had to be properly laid and the food formally served, as though they were dining in company, not just the two of them, sitting in a corner of the front room. It was all part of what Mother referred to as keeping up appearances. She had been stirring a saucepan of soup on the stove.

‘I was worried, Virginia. Quite upset. Something might have happened to you. They really shouldn't keep you so late. It's most inconsiderate.'

‘I'm sorry, Mother.'

‘Your hair's very wet. Didn't you use your umbrella?'

‘I forgot to take it this morning.'

‘You'll forget your head one of these days. I hope you don't forget things at the office.'

‘No, I don't . . .'

‘Just as well. Good posts are hard to come by these days. You can dry those things now that you're here. It would have been nice if you'd been here earlier to help more.'

She had picked up the tea cloth and begun to dry a mixing bowl from the draining board. Mother had bent to open the oven door and there had been a piece of haddock baking inside, curled up at the edges. She had wondered how she was going to find the appetite to eat it. She had finished the bowl, started on some spoons and dropped one of them with a clatter.

‘You're so clumsy, Virginia. It's high time you grew out of it. It gives such a bad impression.'

The oven door had shut on the dried-up haddock and Mother had lifted the lid on a saucepan of boiling cabbage.

‘What were you doing so late at the office? It must have been something important.'

She had had to speak up then. Then, or never.

‘Actually, I wasn't at the office, Mother –'

Mother had turned to stare, the saucepan lid in one hand. ‘Where were you then? Not with some man, I hope. You know my views on that. You're far too young and they're not to be trusted. As I should know.'

‘I – I went to the recruiting office. It's very near. Just round the corner, in fact. I've been past it often at lunchtimes and seen the queues . . .'

‘What
are
you talking about, Virginia? What recruiting office? What queues? What do you mean?'

‘For the Women's Auxiliary Air Force, Mother.'

‘For
what
?'

‘The Women's Air Force . . . I've applied to join them. It's quite a new thing and they've been asking for volunteers. It's to help the Royal Air Force . . .'

Mother's face had gone frighteningly white. ‘Have you gone mad! I hope you're not serious.'

She had held onto the spoons tightly. ‘Yes, I am, Mother. I've been thinking about it . . . Every time I saw the queues, I felt I wanted to do something really useful, like those women. Today I talked with one of the officers. She says I could join next month, as soon as I'm eighteen. They'd have me then. But I thought I ought to tell you now –'

‘Stop this nonsense, Virginia! Don't be so ridiculous! You have a perfectly good job as an insurance clerk. I shouldn't dream of allowing you to do anything so stupid. A girl of your background joining the Services! I never heard of such a thing. Only the lowest type of girls do that.'

She had said doggedly: ‘I don't think that's true, Mother. Lots of women are volunteering now – very
respectable ones. I've seen them standing in the queues. I don't want to spend the war working at Falcon Assurance. I want to do something worthwhile. Please try to understand.'

Two red spots had appeared in Mother's white cheeks. ‘Oh, I understand. I understand very well. You just want to go off and enjoy yourself, and leave me here all on my own. That's the truth of it, so don't try to pretend otherwise. Worthwhile, indeed! I should have thought it was worthwhile to remember your duty to me, after all I've done for you . . . bringing you up single-handed. You're selfish and ungrateful – and deceitful too, just like your father. Going off to that place without telling me – pretending you were at the office –'

‘I didn't pretend that, Mother –'

‘You're taking after him, and you're going to abandon me, just like he did. You're going to leave me to face the bombs all by myself. I could be blown to bits for all you care!'

Mother's voice had risen to a hysterical pitch and there had been tears in her eyes. It had been horrible. She had hardly ever seen her cry.

‘I do care, Mother. Of course, I do.'

‘No, you don't, or you wouldn't even consider leaving me after all I've suffered. You're a heartless, wicked creature and if you go I shall never forgive you!'

Mother had dropped the saucepan lid with a crash and rushed from the kitchen. Her bedroom door had slammed shut so hard that it had shaken the walls of the flat.

She had stood quite still, in shock and distress, clutching the spoons and the damp tea cloth to her chest, feeling her heart thumping hard. The soup had boiled over suddenly, oozing in lava-like streams over the top of the saucepan and down the sides to sizzle on the stove. There had been a smell of burning from the cabbage. She had moved forward blindly to turn both off.