Churchill’s Angels (21 page)

‘Time to descend, Daisy. You won’t see the ground exactly as you were able to see it in the
Daisy
, but trust yourself and the plane, and put her down.’

There were several airmen and WAAFs standing watching as gently and surely Daisy set the little plane down and taxied her towards the hangar.

‘Well done. Now, out you get and greet your admiring public.’

‘Adair?’

‘Every person out there thinks you’re a man. What a lovely little surprise we have for them.’

The last thing Daisy sought was notoriety. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘What will they think?’

‘What do you want them to think? You’re a girl and you’re learning to fly. That’s it. If you treat it as the norm, so will they.’

Muttering, ‘I hope you’re right,’ under her breath, Daisy clambered out and dropped to the ground, followed by Adair.

‘Well done,’ he said loudly, and held out his hand so that she had no option but to shake it. ‘I’ll take the helmet.’

Daisy would have preferred to keep her identity hidden but had no choice. She took off the helmet, handed it to him, and said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ in as steady a voice as she could muster.

There was nothing but the sound of their shoes on the tarmac as they walked away from the plane and then someone clapped. By the time they reached the hangar everyone who was standing around was clapping or stamping feet, not only the women but many of the RAF personnel too.

‘Well done, sir,’ shouted one. ‘Always choose the stunners.’

Daisy blushed furiously.

‘Enjoy, little stunner,’ came Adair’s voice beside her. ‘I’m afraid it won’t last.’

What did he mean? She could not possibly speak to him with so many WAAFs and aircrew standing around, and then she saw Felicity Carmyllie from her own billet and the dislike in her eyes was palpable.

‘Wonder what the working-class tart had to do to get a flying lesson, or do we really need to wonder?’

Daisy had never been subjected to such animosity and she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

‘Cry and I’ll hit you, Daisy Petrie.’ It was Charlie, who went on talking cheerily as the base personnel let them through, many still clapping and congratulating her.

Adair had disappeared into the office block. Had she thanked him? Did he really mean that he was taking her to the dance? It was an all-ranks party to celebrate the start of the New Year, but he was a senior officer, and a decorated one at that.

Once Daisy and Rose had been reading about military decorations and both girls had thought decorations meant streamers and balloons and had tried hard to visualise brave soldiers ‘decorated by the King’. Now Daisy knew that a decoration was a medal. How many decorations did Adair have and would he wear them to the dance?

‘Why have you been hiding your tame squadron leader, Daisy Petrie?’

Daisy had missed lunch and so Charlie was taking her back to the billet to drink tea, eat up all the Christmas leftovers and, she hoped, tell all about the dashing pilot.

‘He’s not my squadron leader. I didn’t know he were a squadron leader when I met him. He were only a lad in an old plane.’ Her newly learned grammar had deserted her in her stress.

‘I’m so glad.’

‘About what?’

‘That he’s not your squadron leader, for he is totally divine and now fair game. You did hear him say he would call for you at eight?’

Daisy looked around at the slim and not quite so slim figures relaxing on their beds. ‘You’re having me on, Charlotte Featherstone.’

Charlie crossed her heart. ‘Scout’s honour. Now, come on, tell us about the flying lessons. The very idea makes me feel faint. Where, when, why, how much, the whole lovely story.’

After Daisy had told the audience that she thought them all rather silly, she told them, in as few words as possible, how she had met Adair, worked with him on the engine, and had eventually been given a flying lesson. She did not mention the Czechoslovakian ace.

The girls were wide-eyed with excitement.

‘Are you stepping out, Daisy?’

‘Much more important: have you met his family, Petrie? I thought not.’ The clipped tones came from Felicity Carmyllie. ‘I hear he’s heir to an earldom. They don’t marry plebeians; sleep with them, yes.’

‘Ignore her, Daisy,’ Charlie hissed. ‘If you react, the bitch will never leave you alone. Now tell me,’ she said in a much louder voice, ‘what is it like to actually look down on the earth?’ Charlotte, who must have flown to holiday destinations several times, led the questions.

‘Even more, what’s it like when you’re flying the cardboard box, because that’s all they are, isn’t it, some plywood, and a few bits of wire? You’ll never get me going up in one of them.’

‘Did your stomach flip, Daisy, like on a funfair?’

The questions went on and on, especially when Felicity tried to say anything.

‘Anyone on duty?’

For much of the past week, even after a long busy day, the entire hut had been on duty after seven as a defence precaution and so that they could familiarise themselves with the routine in case of an attack.

One WAAF raised her hand. ‘Don’t worry about me, girls. I volunteered. I can’t dance and I loathe New Year’s Eve. I shall be perfectly happy.’

‘What do you feel about New Year’s Eve, Daisy?’

‘I love it. My parents invite the world in. It’s great fun, singing, dancing, listening to the wireless. What about you, Charlie?’

‘Oh, it’s all right, but sometimes seems like a poor excuse for bad behaviour. What do you plan to wear?’

‘Not much choice; must have missed the bit that said party frock on the list they sent. I’ve got a nice blouse but it’ll have to be my uniform skirt, though I do have my best shoes – with a heel – and stockings my sister sent me for Christmas. What about you?’

‘My family packs for every emergency. I did bring a pretty frock.’

As well as the stunning outfit she had worn when they met, Charlie had two day dresses with her, both simple but beautifully tailored. Charlie was always just right.

Several of the girls went together to the mess for their evening meal, called tea, and had a tasty stew of a meat that no one quite recognised, and vegetables, followed by a piece of cake, an apple for those who wanted one, and mugs of hot sweet tea. It was judged a fine meal by military standards, if not particularly festive.

They hurried back to their billet to change. Almost everyone was excited and cries of, ‘Anyone got a pink lipstick?’ or, ‘Who’s got a steady hand? I need a line drawn up my legs?’ rang out.

Daisy felt those pleasurable feelings in the pit of her stomach. Would he really come? Did she want him to? Adair as a workmate, even as an instructor, was very different from Adair as … as what? An escort? A date? Daisy Petrie who lived above a shop in Dartford and Adair Maxwell who … Daisy laughed. Adair seemed to live above an old stable on a Kentish farm.

They had had several days without air-raid warnings. How awful it would be if the Germans decided to unleash a real offensive. Surely no one would want to fight on New Year’s Eve. Stupid Daisy. No normal person wants to fight.

Charlie was rummaging in her bag. ‘Honestly, it’s worse than school,’ she said. ‘There’s always someone who just can’t be seen without nail varnish.’

‘Remind her there’s a war on,’ teased Daisy, who was loving every minute.

Charlie’s dark green velvet dress was voted the prettiest frock ever, although Daisy was slightly disappointed. For a dance she had expected some glitter or other embellishment but Charlie’s dress was surprisingly simple.

‘It’s a dress up or leave alone, according to the occasion, Daisy,’ she explained. ‘I shall dress it up with this wrap. What do you think?’

‘Stunning.’ The wrap was an unusual mix of pale green, dark green and gold, and was of fine wool.

Charlie was digging in her drawer. ‘Now what do you think of this?’ She held up a long chain of silver links.

Daisy felt that the chain, although lovely, was quite wrong for the dress but was too unsure of herself to say so.

‘Don’t you think it’s pretty?’

‘It’s lovely, Charlie, but …’

‘Good. Would you like to borrow it to dress up your skirt? If you use it as a belt and let all the extra links hang down to your knees, I think it will look quite partyish.’ She had threaded the links through Daisy belt loops as she spoke. ‘
Fait
accompli
, Daisy. You look lovely.’

‘Silver doesn’t disguise class, Charlotte.’ Felicity Carmyllie was looking on, displeasure written all over her face.

‘I know. So sad. But then, Felicity dear, neither do elocution lessons. Come on, Daisy, our escorts are waiting and I must get over early – toe-tapping music should be heard as the merry-makers arrive.’

Charlie swept Daisy past the startled Felicity and outside, grabbing Daisy’s coat on the way.

‘Why does she dislike me so much, Charlie?’

‘She dislikes everyone. Poor old Carmyllie is doomed to go through life disappointed. Don’t allow her to hurt you, Daisy. She can’t, you know, unless you allow her.’

Two tall men in casual clothes were walking along the path towards them but Daisy paid no attention until, instead of stepping aside to let them pass, the men stopped in front of them.

‘Hello, Daisy, and you must be Charlie. Adair Maxwell,’ he finished with the slightest bow. ‘And I believe you know Wing Commander Anstruther.’

‘Ladies.’ The senior officer shook hands with each girl in turn. ‘Shall we walk over with you?’

They turned and headed towards the recreation hall where the party was being held. Automatically, Adair stepped behind to walk with Daisy while the senior officer escorted Charlie.

‘The wing commander won’t be able to stay as he’s involved in meetings with my passenger but he does want to talk to you at some point about flying.’

‘Is he angry?’

‘Gosh, no.’ Adair grabbed her hand and squeezed it and then, as if suddenly aware of the intimacy of the gesture, released it. ‘He’s fascinated and very forward-thinking. There’s a tremendous amount of resistance to women pilots, you know, and believe me, I can’t think of anyone who would condone women pilots in combat situations, but why shouldn’t women fly? They drive. They sail. Only thing left is flight.’

‘Maybe men want to keep it to themselves.’

He laughed. ‘
Touché
.’

She was quiet – another of those words she didn’t understand – but she smiled; why, she didn’t quite know. Her hand seemed still afire with his touch and Daisy felt that she would be happy just to walk on and on, listening to him speak or laugh. Even if he never said a word, it would be lovely, she thought.

‘Are you happy here, Daisy? Are the courses going well?’

‘All marching, climbing and book learning at the mo. Never even set eyes on an actual engine.’

‘That will come at your next posting.’

They had reached the hut and both Charlie and the wing commander had disappeared. Loud jazz music was pouring out of the hut, together with the happy sounds of revelry.

‘Why did he walk over with you, Adair?’

‘He knows her family. Doing the polite, nothing more. He certainly doesn’t want to make her an object of gossip. Come on, let me take your coat and I’ll fetch us drinks. Don’t worry. No one’s in uniform, no stripes visible.’

‘You look very nice, Daisy Petrie,’ he said when she removed her coat, ‘but you look good in anything.’

Two girls from her billet were sitting at a table where there were a few empty spaces and they called out to Daisy to join them. ‘Listen to Charlie,’ they shouted above the noise, ‘and Edith. Aren’t they fantastic?’

Daisy smiled her agreement. She knew nothing about music but loved the sound she was hearing from the several men and women on a dais at the far end of the hut.

One of the men stood up and pulled Daisy to her feet. ‘Let’s dance, beautiful.’

‘Sorry, chum, Beautiful is dancing this one with me.’ Adair had set down the drinks and was offering Daisy his hand.

‘I’m not a good …’ began Daisy but she was already in Adair’s arms and almost galloping around the room.

‘What was that?’ she gasped as they came to an exhausted halt.

‘Something called bebop or was it the Turkey Trot? Haven’t the slightest idea, Daisy, but I knew you could do it. You’re fit and have superb balance.’

The evening flew on. They danced and they sang and they cheered the band and one another. By the time the band leader announced that it would soon be 1941, Daisy had met and talked or danced with more people on the airfield than she had met in her weeks of training. She really felt like a WAAF and was immensely proud.

Charlie had joined them for a drink during a band break.

‘Well, well, Aircraftswoman Second Class Petrie. I don’t blame you one bit for hiding him. If he were teaching me to fly – or anything else for that matter – I am quite sure I’d need hours of instruction.’

‘I wasn’t hiding him,’ said Daisy, and then looked at her friend Charlie and laughed. ‘He’s rather hard to hide.’

‘The band sees all, Daisy, and the green eyes of envy were standing out on stalks all over the room. When are you seeing him again?’

‘I’m not, Charlie. He’s a fighter pilot. He’s never here. Besides, we don’t have that kind of relationship. I just happen to live near the farm where he kept his plane and I helped him strip the engine. He’s grateful for my help.’

‘Trust Aunt Charlotte, gratitude is not uppermost on his mind. And here he is with our – wow, Adair, bubbly for the New Year.’

‘Bubbly for Daisy; I promised her some, seems like a lifetime ago.’

‘Then off you go, my children. I’ll take mine to the bandstand.’

Bubbly? Champagne. The Christmas sherry seemed so long ago. Adair had the bottle and two glasses in one hand and he took Daisy’s with the other and followed Charlie to the dais where he set down the champagne. It was all so normal for them and so exciting for her.

‘Let’s stand here for the countdown. We don’t want to miss it.’

He poured the champagne into the glasses and handed one to Daisy. She looked down into the liquid where little bubbles jumped and tumbled, exactly like the ones in her stomach.