Bluebirds (82 page)

‘Don't tug at the curtains like that, Virginia. It's quite unnecessary. You'll damage them.'

Once she would have said she was sorry; now she said nothing. She finished the job and then switched on the lamps and then she sat down and picked up her knitting. There was silence in the sitting-room, except for the clicking of the needles.

Winnie enjoyed every moment of the Fitters' Course at RAF Halton and even the journey there went without a hitch. She found her way on the Underground in London, and took the train out to Wendover, passing through the gentle countryside of Buckinghamshire. The camp had been built in peacetime, like Colston, and the quarters were of solid redbrick with highly-polished wood floors. There was much more spit-and-polish than there had been at Flaxton or at Kirkton, and the WAAF officers were real sticklers. She had to polish her buttons and shoes until they shone like glass, and the smallest fault was picked on. At church parade the officer walked all round her, inspecting her minutely, and reported her for not having one stocking seam quite straight and for leaving the little button on the slit in her greatcoat unfastened. But she didn't mind because everything else was worth it.

Every morning they marched to a pipe-band down to the lecture rooms and workshops and so the day began on a bright note. The course was far more thorough and detailed than the flight mechanics' one had been. She learned about metals and metallurgy, about how to crack-test and shock-load test, and how to do precision checks and pressure tests. She was taught how to replace a fuel pump, dismantle a crankcase, check a cylinder block for leaks, test a suspect thermostat, remove and fit a propeller . . . Her gen book filled steadily with her notes as the days passed. In the workshops everything was stripped down to the last nut and bolt and checked in every possible way for wear and tear and damage.

‘There's no
near enough
with what's acceptable,' the instructor impressed on them from the start. ‘You're working to thousandths of an inch and it's got to be exact. If you strip down an engine and adjust it and replace it
precisely
according to what's laid down in the book, then every part and every component will work sweet as a song when it's all reassembled.'

Winnie found that very satisfying.

At the end of the course she passed out as Leading
Aircraftwoman Jervis with a mark of eighty per cent, and she sewed her props on her sleeve with pride. When she was told to put in for an area where she would like to be sent, she wrote down Suffolk and to her delight she was posted back to Flaxton.

‘Thought we'd got rid of you,' Chiefy said when he saw her arrive. ‘You're like a bad penny.'

But later on she found out that he had asked specially to have her back. She was put to work on engines in the Maintenance hangar and though some of the men in the gang pulled her leg at first, and others resented her new status, they all got used to her after a while and she was accepted. There were several more WAAF flight mechs at the station now so she was no longer such an oddity

Quite often she would see the American B17s flying over but she could never tell if it was the
Sassy Sally
because they were always too far away; in any case she would have a different crew by now. There goes Texas an' Minnesota, she said to herself as she watched the bombers, remembering names of the states. An' Maine an' Georgia, an' Oklahoma an' Tennessee, Kentucky an' Idaho . . . Virgil had told her the crews came from all over America.

He'd written a letter to her when she was at Halton, saying that he had finished his tour and had been given thirty days leave. He was off to take a look around, he'd said. She'd got a postcard from London with a picture of Buckingham Palace on it and an X marked on one of the windows that he said was his room. Then there had been more cards from Oxford, from Stratford-upon-Avon, from Wales and Somerset, Devon and Cornwall. The last one had been from a remote place in Scotland. He had said nothing in any of them about whether he was ever coming back to Suffolk to do another tour and she thought that he must have been sent back to America after all.

When the weather got better and the evenings lighter, she sometimes biked down to the Fox and Grapes with
the rest of the gang. There seemed to be more Americans than ever going there. Once she met Nora who was with an American army sergeant. Buzz, she told Winnie, in a whispered aside had gone back home at the end of his tour. She had introduced the grinning sergeant whose hair, at odds with his name which was Curly, looked like bristles on a brush. He came from somewhere called Wyoming, Nora hissed, and he said he had a big ranch. Privately, Winnie doubted it. She'd heard that a lot of them pretended things like that.

One evening when she was there, watching a darts match in progress in a corner of the bar, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. She turned her head and saw Taffy standing there behind her.

‘Hallo, Winnie,' he said softly. ‘Remember me?'

She went bright red. ‘I'm with some others . . .'

‘Just so long as you're not with one of these Yanks.'

‘That's got nothin' to do with you.'

‘Everything about you has to do with me.'

He moved round, putting himself between her and the others who were watching the darts match, isolating her. His eyes hadn't left her face and she looked away from their gaze.

‘I told you, I don't want to see you any more.'

‘But I don't believe you. Look how you blushed just now when you saw it was me. You wouldn't have done that if I didn't mean something to you.'

She looked round desperately for escape. He frightened her. He'd always frightened her. Confused her. Sometimes she had the feeling that she wouldn't be able to hold out against him for ever.

The bar was so crowded now that it was difficult to move. If she just left the pub Taffy would only come after her and it was a four-mile bike ride back to the station in the dark.

‘Leave me alone,' she said pleadingly. ‘You don't mean anythin' to me.'

But he moved even closer still so that she had to lean
backwards to keep her distance. ‘Oh yes I do, girl. You know I do.'

There was a stir by the entrance as yet more people came in. It was another group of Americans. She could see their olive uniforms and hear their drawl. ‘Six beers, bud!' one of them called out to the bar, and there was laughter and back-slapping as they joined the others there. ‘Bloody Yanks,' a cockney voice said near her. ‘They'll drink the bleedin' place dry.'

Then she saw Virgil. He must have been one of the last to enter because he was standing just inside the doorway, on the step, and looking round.

‘Excuse me,' she said to Taffy very firmly. ‘There's a friend of mine over there.'

She squeezed her way towards him, ducking under drinking arms and edging between people. Someone spilled beer all over her shoulder and a cigarette end burned her hand. Virgil saw her before she reached him and pushed through to meet her.

‘Gee, Winnie . . .' He was grinning down at her.

‘You're back,' she said unnecessarily.

‘Looks like it. Howya doin', then?'

‘All right, thanks.' She rubbed her burned hand surreptitiously behind her back. ‘How 'bout you?'

‘Fine 'n dandy. I'm doin' another tour, like I told you I wanted. Thought first off they was gonna send me back stateside, but they're short of good waist gunners over here. Keep on losin' them all the time. Worst place to be in the ship.'

She said, troubled: ‘Are you still with the
Sassy Sally?
'

‘Nope. Got another Fort now. Matter o' fact, she's named for you.'

She stared at him.
‘Me?'

‘Yeah,
you
.' He grinned. ‘Called her
Wattagal Winnie!
I told the other guys 'bout you an' they kinda liked the idea. Got this picture painted of you on the nose.'

‘A picture of me?' She went very red, thinking of the naked women she'd seen fly over.

He read her face and laughed. ‘Oh, it ain't like
Sassy Sally
or some of the others . . . I told the guy that did it 'bout the way you look in those blue dungarees an' that checked shirt you wear on the farm, an' how your hair's all curly, an' 'bout those blue eyes of yours, an' he painted a real pretty picture of you like that, an' put the name underneath. You've done a coupla missions already.'

‘Oh . . .' Her blushed deepened even more. She felt both embarrassed and overwhelmed. An American bomber named after her! ‘It's very nice of you all.'

‘It's great havin' you with us.' He pointed to her shoulder suddenly. ‘What happened there?'

‘Someone spilled beer over me.'

‘Didn't mean that. What's the new badge mean?'

‘Leadin' aircraftwoman.'

‘That since you done that course?'

She nodded. She would have liked to tell him about the eighty per cent marks but that might have sounded like boasting. He was gazing at her admiringly.

‘Like I said, watta gal!'

She saw then that he had something new on his arm too. The sergeant's chevron was different, with two rockers beneath the wrong-way-up stripes.

‘What about you an' that?'

He looked casual, almost modest. ‘Technical sergeant – that's what that is. An' that's 'bout as far as I c'n go as a gunner. Still, it ain't bad. My folks'll be pleased. Gee, it's good to see you again. I've been in here a coupla times this week, hopin' I'd find you. Just wrote you a letter, but I wasn't sure if you'd been posted some place else now, so I ain't sent it yet. You get that other one I wrote you a while back? An' all those postcards?'

She nodded again. ‘Thanks. I couldn't write back 'cos I didn't know where you were.'

‘I was movin' all over the place. Had a swell time in London first. Went to the theatre, saw the sights, found some great clubs for dancin' . . .'

She thought of him as she'd first seen him, jitterbugging
with the blond girl in the mauve dress and high heels. ‘How was Buckingham Palace?'

He grinned. ‘Real fancy. He's a great guy, your King. Say, I didn't know the Jerries'd dropped bombs on them too? Strikes me he an' the Queen ought to be sent away some place safe. Canada, maybe.'

‘Oh, they'd never leave us,' she said. ‘Never.'

‘Guess they know best. Wouldn't want to leave much if I was them either. It sure is a beautiful country. I ain't never seen such pretty places, an' I sure loved those great big old houses, an' the castles, an' all that kinda stuff . . . Never knew you had mountains before. Got right up as far as Scotland. Couldn't understand what in heck they was sayin' but we got along just fine.'

A hand fell on her shoulder. Taffy had appeared beside her. ‘I'm taking you home, Winnie.' His fingers dug in hard. ‘Come on.'

Virgil looked at Taffy and then back at Winnie. ‘You with this guy?'

She hesitated. Several other RAF had gathered behind Taffy. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene, or any trouble.

‘No, but it's all right. I was goin' anyway.'

Virgil said slowly: ‘Well, that's OK by me, if you want to. But it ain't OK if it's only because this guy wants you to. You want to stay, you stay.'

Taffy took hold of her arm and began to pull her away. ‘You keep away from her, Yank. She's coming with me. She doesn't want anything to do with bloody Yanks. She's not that kind of girl.'

Virgil looked at him again. ‘Reckon I know what kind of girl Winnie is, an' it ain't the sort that likes bein' pushed around . . . I figure you oughta let go of her, mister. Let her make up her own mind what she wants to do.'

Some of the Americans had turned round now and were standing behind Virgil, listening and watching. The RAF moved into a semi-circle round Taffy. One of them growled: ‘That's his girl, mate. Piss off!'

Winnie said quickly: ‘I ought to go, Virgil . . . I must get back.'

But Virgil was barring the way. ‘Just a moment, honey. If you don't want to go with this guy, then I'm stoppin' him takin' you. An' I figure if he's got to drag you outta here, then that's 'cos you ain't real keen on goin' with him. So, I'm tellin' you, mister, to let go of the lady right now.'

Taffy bunched his fist. ‘Get out of my way, Yank!'

‘I ain't doin' that. Not 'til you take your hands off her.'

‘Then you bloody asked for it!'

Taffy dropped Winnie's arm and swung his closed fist. Virgil staggered back as it caught him in the face. Silence had fallen suddenly in the bar. Everyone stood quite still. Winnie held her breath. Virgil stood wiping the blood slowly from his nose, and then he went for Taffy.

The room exploded into uproar as Americans and RAF fell on each other. Glasses were smashed, tables and chairs overturned. The women screamed as the men crashed about, swinging punches, falling down and rolling over and over on the floor, grappling together. It was like a saloon fight scene from a Western.

Winnie backed against the wall and watched in horror. She had lost sight of Virgil who was somewhere beneath a heaving pile of bodies. She shut her eyes as fists were raised and blows fell, and then opened them again to find Virgil and Taffy locked in furious combat at her feet. Behind the bar, drowned out by the noise, the landlord was mouthing into his telephone.

Presently there was a loud squeal of jeep brakes outside and a group of American Military Police, truncheons flailing, burst into the Fox and Grapes.

‘Here's to your very good health, Squadron Officer Newman.'

‘And to yours, Squadron Leader Dutton.' Felicity raised her glass. ‘You look awfully well.'

Speedy not only looked well but positively respectable. That was surely a new RAF cap, and what had happened to the old check scarf? The dishevelled young flying officer whom she had first met more than four years ago seemed to be gradually disappearing with passing time and promotion. She wondered whether he, too, saw a very different person sitting opposite him now from the new and nervous WAAF officer that she had been.