Churchill’s Angels (36 page)

‘How?’

‘We do not put them in the hangars, one maybe, or two, especially if they need work. But you will see planes sitting on runways in full view.’

Daisy was incensed. ‘That’s crazy.’

‘Not at all. If there are twenty planes, for example, in a hangar, a direct hit destroys probably all, but if there are twenty here and there all over a large area, the enemy bomber will be shot down before he can inflict too much damage.’

‘A squadron?’

‘Could wipe out an entire force but we have to rely on our fighter pilots keeping them away. You still want to fly?’

‘You know I do.’

‘That’s my girl. Now let’s go flying.’

She looked at him. He was still as tall and as slender as he had been when they first met, but his sad grey eyes showed evidence of even more pain. His dark hair, which had been speckled with grey almost as if the silver had been shaken onto the black, was now streaked with silver and the lines of sorrow were even more deeply etched. She wanted to cheer him. ‘Where did you learn to fly, Tomas?’

‘In the Czechoslovakian air force, Daisy, in the thirties; a good life before this insanity.’

She wanted to know more about him, about his family, if he had one, but there was something about him that said, ‘Do not intrude.’ But there was no barrier when she asked about flight.

Usually he took her up in an Oxford – she did not ask if it belonged to Group Captain Lamb. The heady day came when Tomas said that her official trainer would agree that she was more than ready for the arduous life of a ferry pilot. ‘But we, you and me, will concentrate on confidence. I want you to plan a flight from here to Old Manor Farm, Daisy, and to memorise it.’

Her heart was pounding. Did he really mean to fly there some lovely afternoon, to put down, perhaps to visit Adair’s grave? ‘And when I have memorised it?’

‘Then you will fly there; I will follow you, and we will see how you do.’

She consulted the maps, made her own and committed it to memory. But Tomas did not appear.

She was determined not to worry. Tomas was a pilot and as well as giving up his free time to teach her to fly, he flew operations. She would wait, and while she was waiting she would work, but she had to admit she was rather hurt that he had not found a way of letting her know. She found herself thinking of him often. She saw how he had set aside his grief for his first and closest British friend in his efforts to help her come to terms with Adair’s death; she remembered his patience as he taught her not only to fly but to keep herself alive while she was doing so. Dear Tomas, so like Adair in many ways but so different in others. With increasing clarity she saw how much she needed him in her life.

She decided to find out the relevant take-off, landing, and cruising speeds of all the aircraft she might possibly fly and to learn them off by heart. Next she mastered the drill of vital actions for the same planes; H was hydraulics, T was trimmers, and so on. She flew several dual flights in the training Magister, a Class One aircraft and one of the many light aeroplanes that, as a ferry pilot, she would be expected to fly often. It would be so nice to share these experiences with Tomas – after all, Tomas would understand – but still he did not come.

Her first solo flight as an ATA trainee was both a terrifying and an exciting experience. After that, like the other trainees, she had to make several cross-country flights. These flights were particularly important as the pilots had to learn where there were dangers, such as barrage balloons with their frightening, often invisible, cables, and even defensive gun placements. Best to avoid those, if possible. They learned too, the positions of the stations to which they would deliver planes or pilots or supplies, even all three. Daisy loved every minute, but there was also a sadness that there was no one here with whom she could really share her joy.

She wrote to her parents, and to her friends. Her mother and Grace replied. Sally, according to Flora, was auditioning for a part in a propaganda film and everyone in the area was terribly excited. Flora received the news of Daisy’s momentous solo flight with the rather dispiriting,

Your dad and me are pleased for you and hope you are being very careful. There was a Spitfire came down in a back garden just a few streets away. We wouldn’t like anything like that to happen to you. George was awful frightened and couldn’t go outside all day but he says hello. He’s always asking about you.

Grace, however, was suitably impressed.

Absolutely fantastic news, Daisy. I shall look up in the sky over Bedfordshire and wave to all the light aircraft and I’ll tell all the girls I work with – two Poles, a Scot and three English girls – that one of them is bound to be my friend Daisy. I don’t suppose you can dip, if that’s the word, yet!! If you can, then do. We shall all wave like mad.

Daisy was delighted with Grace’s reaction and pleased that she had added details of what she had been doing. She thought she was to be transferred to a farm in Devon before Christmas and had already written to the Brewers about plans for any Christmas leave.

Christmas. How quickly the seasons were coming around. This would be the third Christmas of this war. It’s supposed to have been over long before this, Daisy sighed. Would it ever be over? And where was Tomas? He had not been lost. She would certainly have been told if he had disappeared.

October gave way to November. Daisy and her fellow trainees graduated and received their beautiful little golden wings with the letters ‘ATA’ inside a circle between them. They would wear this insignia proudly on their uniforms. Daisy Petrie was now officially an ATA ferry pilot.

Her first task was not an arduous one, merely to take an Oxford to a station near Carlisle.

She planned her route, which included a refuelling stop, and memorised it. The forecast was, unfortunately, for typical November weather, but Daisy was too stimulated by the realisation that this flight was what made the long arduous months of trial and tribulation worthwhile to worry about weather. She would manage. All she had to do was fly low enough to see the railway line she intended to follow and so, she crossed her fingers that flying through November weather would not be too much of an ordeal.

‘Remember it’s damned cold up there, Daisy,’ said one of the very experienced pilots in her group, ‘Wear your warmest undies and at least two pairs of socks, and good luck.’

And Adair’s scarf, thought Daisy as she thanked her.

‘See you back in the mess in a few days.’

That was when Daisy realised that she had no idea how she was supposed to get back. After all, she was leaving the Oxford in Carlisle. ‘Excuse me, sorry, but one more question? How do I get back?’

The older woman laughed. ‘Oh, poor darling; we’re not looking after our chicks very well, are we? Before every trip, unless you know you’re flying a crate back, pick up a rail warrant in the office. Trains are bloody in winter. Good idea always to ask around at the base – if a plane’s coming this way, you might just hitch a lift. All right?’

‘Thank you so much.’ Daisy felt that she was being a nuisance and was sure the first officer was trying hard not to glance at her watch.

‘Glad to help. Good luck,’ and with a wave she was off down the corridor.

Later, complete with railway warrant, Third Officer Petrie was off on her first ferry flight. She wanted everything to go smoothly and instructed herself as she taxied along, now pull up and away we go.

She was airborne, a perfect take-off.
Oh, Adair, I’m beginning to do my bit, see my wings.

That first flight, even with some fog, mist and unfriendly winds, was uneventful. She stopped, wishing that there had been some way of letting the station know that she was coming, and refuelled.

‘Don’t fret; you’re our third today. You’ve time for a cuppa or, better still, hot soup.’

Daisy was delighted to have the bowl of thick, wonderful-smelling, tasty soup. She could not isolate the main flavour and asked one of the canteen staff.

‘No idea. Cook throws in all the left-over bits of cheese from the officers’ mess; sometimes it’s great, sometimes it’s …’ He tried to think of an acceptable adjective, ‘not’ was the best he could do.

Flying Officer Petrie was delighted to have landed on a good day.

She took off again and found herself flying, for the first time, through sleet that landed on her windscreens, covering them up as quickly as she wiped it off. She was debating whether or not to descend to a lower altitude in an effort to get away from it when the Oxford pushed its lovely nose through a patch of sleet and rain and they were in the clear.

The further north one goes in a British winter, the earlier it begins to get dark. Daisy sang tunelessly to keep her spirits up, and looked down to see, if possible, where she was. Her heart lurched. The railway line had gone – it just was not there. For a moment she panicked and then, was she imagining things, but in her head she heard a voice. ‘Listen to me, Daisy. I am here with you and you must listen and remember everything I say. Then, when I am not with you, concentrate and you will hear me.’

‘Adair?’

How silly. For a moment … In her head she could hear his voice, and she listened. She reset her compass and slowly changed her course until there, below her, was the railway line.

Thirty-five minutes later she was approaching the runway and following the calm voice that told her, step by step, how to land, to taxi and to stop.

When she had completed the instructions for leaving a plane, she picked up her overnight bag and her maps, and climbed out. On legs that seemed somehow to have turned to unmanageable rubber she found her way to the office where she was to have her chit signed to prove that she had handed over one Oxford.

Later she was welcomed to dinner in the officers’ mess, and wondered if she would ever be able to behave as if she felt she actually belonged to this group. It had never occurred to her that pilots were officers, even female pilots who had moved from the mechanics pool.

One of the men at the table told her that unfortunately no plane was going in her direction for a few days. ‘But we’re jolly glad to have the Oxford. Least we can do is take you to the station.’

They did and her home station ATA officer had been absolutely correct. Trains were bloody, if by that she meant they were absolutely freezing. Daisy had been cold while flying but her suit had kept her from freezing. As the train inched its way south, she felt that she would be better off if she were to pull her flying suit out of her suitcase and put it on over her uniform, greatcoat and all. Wind whistled through the train and her ankles and legs were so cold that she felt she might cry. The thought of her mother’s face were she to see her ‘delicate’ daughter now made her smile and she forced herself to paint pretty pictures in her head until the nightmare journey finally rattled to a halt. But her one overwhelming thought as she – and six rather happy airmen – finally reached the base in a taxi with a broken window was: I’m an ATA pilot and have successfully ferried my first plane.

The airmen insisted that she not pay a part of the taxi fare. ‘Honour and privilege to travel with you, ma’am.’

Daisy was given Christmas week off and she looked forward to going home, especially as she had not been at home the Christmas before. She had promised to attend the base New Year’s Eve dance with several ATA pilots, both men and women, and for her first dance at the base she wanted her lovely dress, her Mrs Roban dress, which was, of course, now safely at home.

It would be lovely to have good news of Tomas’s whereabouts before her leave started and so she took her courage in both hands and asked several of the working pilots if they knew him, or of him.

‘Sapenak?’ A pilot who had worked for a civil airline before joining the ATA thought hard. ‘It’d be easier if he flew in and out of here, Miss Petrie, then we would certainly be up to date with news. But, one thing I can tell you, if Sapenak had bought it, we’d know.’

Daisy felt incredible relief. ‘You’re quite sure?’

‘Very respected flyer, Sapenak. We would know.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Thank me by saving me a dance at the New Year’s Eve shindig.’

She smiled at him. ‘Delighted, sir. But may I ask you one more question.’

‘Of course. If I know the answer I’ll tell you, if I don’t know, I’ll tell you that too.’

Daisy blushed. Here she was asking questions about Tomas and all because he had not contacted her in several weeks. Why should he? He owed her nothing. It was the other way round … except that he had asked her to memor-ise a route and had promised to fly it with her. He had broken a promise and somehow Daisy knew that Tomas Sapenak was not the kind of person who broke promises.

‘Wing Commander Sapenak is a fighter pilot and if he had been on a mission and been shot down, you would know but … could he have been doing something else?’

‘Of course he could. It’s war, Miss Petrie; there’s a dozen things a multilingual experienced pilot like Sapenak could be doing. He could have flown into enemy territory to pick up something or someone. Even we humble ferry pilots do other things besides take plane X from A to B, you know.’

‘I’m a bit silly to worry then.’

He shrugged. ‘No idea, depends on how close you two are.’

Daisy blushed again. ‘We had a mutual friend, that’s all. I didn’t know he was multilingual, if that means more than speaking English and whatever they speak in Czechoslovakia.’

‘It does. I’ll hold you to that dance … and I hope you’ve heard from him before Christmas.’

Daisy thanked him and went off to her billet where she made a pot of tea and sat down to drink it and to brood.

Tomas, Adair’s friend, was, no, not that. Tomas had not kept a promise. Unusual. Neither had he been in touch to explain why. Therefore he was either in a place from where it was impossible to contact her or he was in trouble.

She almost spilled her tea as the hut seemed to shake from the force of a thunderous knocking at the door. Daisy replaced her cup and ran to the door.