London Dawn (33 page)

“Yes, yes, thank God, Kipp’s alive. Is that what they’ve told you about Ben?”

They hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

“It’s too good to be true, isn’t it? After so many weeks of this and that and not knowing the truth?” Victoria hugged Caroline as hard as she could. “I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my heart.”

“Come in, come in,” laughed Caroline. “We don’t need to make a scene in the street when we can make it perfectly well inside my house. I was just about to listen to the prime minister’s speech.”

“Another speech?”

“He’s trying to lift our spirits again, you know. France will fall any day now, we all expect it, don’t we?”

“Nothing he could possibly say would lift my spirits more than the phone call from Captain Harrington at Martlesham Heath.” She followed Caroline into the townhouse and saw Matthew, tall and dark, bent over
the knobs on a large radio set positioned against a wall. “Hullo, Matt! Such wonderful news!”

He straightened with a grin. “Cheers, Aunt Vic. It’s astonishing, it really is.” He hugged and kissed her. “I heard you through the door. The RAF gave you good news about Uncle Ben too, didn’t they?”

“The best news of all. Our families have good reason to celebrate.”

“Where’s Ram?”

“Oh, I told him about the telephone call and rushed out the door to come here. Call him up, would you, Matt? Tell him to join us for the broadcast and a bit of a party.”

“Will do.” He left the room.

Victoria collapsed into a chair. “I’m done in. It’s only five minutes and I’m done in.” She laughed. “I suppose I should temper my enthusiasm, shouldn’t I? It’s not as if they’re back in England yet. The Channel Islands, the man told me. That’s their base for providing air cover for another series of evacuations, did they tell you?”

Caroline was in the kitchen brewing tea and putting biscuits on a plate. “From Brest and Cherbourg and Bordeaux…I can’t remember the names of all the ports, but it’s almost as many men as they took off the beaches and piers at Dunkerque.”

“Good show is all I can say. We certainly could use them here if Hitler thinks of crossing over.” She sank her head back on a cushion. “Ben’s made it to the Channel Islands. Well, if he’s made it that close to home, he has no excuse for making it all the way. I don’t care what sort of bombers he has to shoot down or how many of those Messerschmitts he has to cut his way through. He can’t escape from that catastrophe in France only to crash into the sea now.”

“They’re still much closer to France, you know, Aunt Vic,” said Matthew, coming back to play with the radio set.

“Who are?” she asked him, head still back, and her eyes closed. “What are?”

“The Channel Islands—Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, Sark, all the rest.”

“I don’t care. They’re off the continent, so they’re practically in England to me.” She opened one eye. “Where’s Charles today?”

“Don’t know. He’s a bit miffed that Eva’s taken up with Owen.”

“Charles is a bit miffed about everything.”

Caroline came into the front room with a tray bearing a tea pot, cups,
cream and sugar, and the plate of biscuits. “I suppose eventually he’ll sort himself out. A mother can only pray and hope for the best.”

“Amen to that.”

There was a loud knock, and the front door flew open. “Did I miss it, Mum?” asked Ramsay.

Victoria smiled. “Not at all. Come have a cuppa.”

“All right.”

“Where’s your brother?” asked Victoria.

“Drawing some great awful picture. He didn’t want to come. Tim, the loner, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Victoria lifted her head off the cushion and leaned over to pour herself a cup of tea. Caroline had set the tray on a table between their chairs. “At least he’s not mad to dash off and join the RAF like you two.”

“Or Peter and James, Mum.”

“Peter and James! The Wilde Twins!” Victoria poured cream into her tea. “And they’re supposed to be the sons of an Anglican priest. Even Jane with all her charms can’t keep those two on the ground. They’ve already enlisted.” She glanced at Ramsay sharply. “Something you won’t be doing anytime soon.”

Ramsay stood with his tea and a handful of biscuits. “I’ll talk to Dad.”

“
I’ll
talk to Dad, young man. If you want to work in a factory to support the war effort, that’s fine, but the RAF is out of the question.”

“Work in a factory? Peter and James—”

“Peter and James are in the Auxiliary RAF. It’s to be expected that they’d join up, isn’t it? Not to mention they have five years on you, Ramsay Whitecross, and hours upon hours of flying experience.” She sipped at her tea. “Our family does not need any more pilots.”

“Our country does.”

“Then our country can provide them. We’ve done our bit in both wars. They had your father in nineteen eighteen and now they have him again in nineteen forty, and that’s enough. Not to mention your Uncle Kipp and James and Peter—they all have their heads in the clouds. No, indeed, the family’s RAF quota is quite full.”

Ramsay’s dark face darkened even more. “You make it sound like the war’s won. All we’ve done is snatch our troops from the jaws of disaster, Mum. We’ve been beaten in Europe. And they’re going to come for us next.
Not with their
Panzers
or their soldiers. With their planes. If we get beaten this time we’re done—all Britain is done.”

“Britain has enough pilots.”

“But it doesn’t. We lost hundreds of planes in France. They don’t talk about it but I know it. I’ve heard the Dunkerque soldiers go on about it all. They saw our planes fall from the sky. Not just during the evacuation. From May tenth on. Britain needs more men, Mum. It needs more fliers.”

“Britain doesn’t need
you.
There are plenty of others to choose from. Now that’s enough.”

“The war isn’t going to go away now that the Germans dominate Europe, Mum. Things are only going to get worse.”

“I said,
that’s enough
.”

Ramsay sat down, his face like a thundercloud. “Just so you know, I’m not going to make boots or uniforms in a factory in the Midlands.”

“Fine. You can carry on with your plans for university at King’s College.”

“Oh, Matt’s another one.” Caroline took a biscuit from the plate. “ ‘My dad’s flying, so I should be flying.’ That’s his song.”

Matthew had his ear to the radio set and the volume turned down low. “A few more minutes,” he said. Then he glanced over at his mother. “Well, and so I should. Dad and Uncle Ben can’t carry the load forever, can they? It’s not as if they’re young men anymore.”

Caroline lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, really? I suppose that makes me a little old lady too, does it?”

“I’m just saying they need chaps like me and Ram. Even if you and Aunt Vic think they don’t.”

There was another knock on the door.

“That’s Sean,” Matthew announced as he crossed the room. “I rang him up.” He opened the door. “Cheers.”

“Hullo.” Sean, tall and dark like Matthew and Ramsay, came into the house. “Aunt Caroline. Aunt Victoria. Cheers, Ram.”

“Cheers.”

“Hullo, Sean.” Caroline got up and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How’s your Angelika? Your Mum said she had a bad cold.”

“She’s on the mend, thanks.”

Victoria arched an eyebrow. “Have you been recruited by Matt and Ramsay into their Hurricane squadron?”

Sean gave her a smile that instantly lit up his dark features. “You’ve heard about all that, have you, Aunt Vic?”

“That’s all I’ve heard day and night since the Germans invaded France and Holland and Belgium. Your name never came up though.”

“I’m a recent convert.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry to hear it. I thought you had my sister Catherine’s no-nonsense approach to life.”

“I did, but Da came in on the side of enlistment. He’s dead set on overthrowing the Nazis and getting Germany back under a proper democracy. Especially after what we went through over there.”

“I know. It was dreadful.” Victoria stirred another spoonful of sugar into her tea. “But surely you’re not eighteen yet like Ramsay and Matthew?”

“Not quite. But I’m done with my schooling. It’s either enlist or on to university to get my doctorate in theology.” He laughed. “That’s what Da would want. At least you’d think that’s what Da would want. But he wants a Germany without the Nazis more than his son lecturing from a university podium. And his attitude is that we shouldn’t expect others to do the hard work for us.”

“Hear, hear,” said Matthew, standing and drinking tea by the radio set.

“What? Your dad is pushing you to enlist?” Ramsay put down his tea. “Just like that?”

“Not just like that. He and Mum have been going over and over the matter. She’s no more keen to see me go up in a kite than these two are to see you and Matt up among the clouds.”

“You never mentioned it.”

“I didn’t know how serious Da was about the whole thing. But with the collapse of France he’s getting quite professorial.”

Ramsay was horrified. “D’you mean to say you could be up flying a Hurricane while I’m sitting like a lump in some lecture hall?”

Sean shrugged. “ ‘God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea and rides upon the storm. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds you so much dread are big with mercy and shall break in blessings on your head.’ ”

“Oh, shut up.” Ramsay looked at his mother. “It’s unforgivable.”

Victoria gave Sean a sharp look. “I shall have a chat with my sister.
The last thing we need is you up and flying about and driving your cousins mad.”

“And their mothers.” Caroline indicated a chair. “Do take a seat, sweet nephew. No more of the lecture hall for you. You’ve given everyone quite enough to think about.” She got up. “In fact, let me serve you, if that will keep you quiet.”

Sean flopped in the chair beside Caroline’s. “Do you have chocolate covered biscuits?”

“Just a moment. There are a few left in the kitchen.” She poured him tea. “I’ll bring the cream and sugar over.”

“No need, Aunt Caroline. I like it without any added petrol.”

Victoria tapped her fingers. “Waiting on him hand and foot, are we?”

“Anything to get him away from the podium, Vic.”

“It is, perhaps, all greatly exaggerated. Someone needs to give credence to the idea Hitler may well be content with Europe and have no interest in the British Isles whatsoever.”

“You don’t believe that, Mum,” said Ramsay.

“Why not? I do believe it. I want to believe it.”

“We’ve been sinking each other’s ships and blowing up each other’s planes. There’s no going back now.”

“Ramsay, my dear, one can always go back.”

He shook his head. “Not on wickedness, Mum. Haven’t you listened to Uncle Albrecht’s story? You know what the Nazis did with the books in the universities. You’ve seen what they’re doing to the Jews.” He looked at Sean, who had his cup to his lips. “You’ve heard Sean tell what it was like to hide in attics and cellars from house to house with the Gestapo hunting them down. You were what, Sean, eleven or twelve years old?”

Victoria tapped her fingers again. “Still. Hitler need not go farther.”

“He won’t leave us here like a long thorn in Germany’s side, Mum. We’ll interfere with all his plans, won’t we? He’s got to pull us out and snap us in two.”

“What a cheerful lad you are.”

“Here we go. Quiet everyone.” Matthew turned up the volume on the radio. “I hope it’s a good enough broadcast to settle all the differences of opinion in this room.”

“Not likely,” responded Victoria, pouring herself another cup of tea.

They all listened to the speech attentively—even Victoria, who was afraid Churchill would fuel her son’s ardor to fly and fight. It went on for some time, and as the minutes went by, Victoria felt relieved that Churchill had not come out with any particularly eloquent turns of phrase or fiery expressions that might ignite Ramsay’s spirit.

“He’s just done,” she announced, setting her cup in its small plate with a loud click of china on china.

“Shh, Mum,” said Ramsay, annoyed. “The speech isn’t over yet.”

“There’s nothing more to say, is there?”

“Shh! Mum!”

The radio crackled, and Churchill’s voice was distorted and indistinct. Matthew jumped up and twisted one of the knobs left and right. Half a minute of this and the sound was restored, much clearer and sharper than before.

…the French people. If we are now called upon to endure what they have been suffering, we shall emulate their courage, and if final victory rewards our toils they shall share the gains, aye, and freedom shall be restored to all. We abate nothing of our just demands; not one jot or tittle do we recede. Czechs, Poles, Norwegians, Dutch, Belgians have joined their causes to our own. All these shall be restored.

What General Weygand called the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilization. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and our Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us.