A Different World (8 page)

When he first came to England he had doubted the people’s will to resist. He had wondered if they might, like the French, seek an armistice, but he soon realised they were every bit as determined as his own countrymen to win. Led by Winston Churchill, who had replaced Chamberlain as prime minister, they were stoically fighting on. The ‘wet behind the ears’ British pilots had turned out not to be so wet; they were as gallant a crew as you could meet anywhere. He was proud to call them comrades.

As soon as he landed he went to debriefing and claimed his ‘kill’, then to his quarters and flung himself on his bed and slept. Waking three hours later he realised he was still in his flying kit. He stripped off, had a bath and went to the mess for dinner. With luck he might be able to eat his meal in peace, but that hadn’t happened for days. The only thing that would stop the bombers
coming over was bad weather, and there hadn’t been any of that. After the terrible winter, the summer had been glorious.

So much for the stories that England was a country of rain and yet more rain, and if it wasn’t raining the fog was so dense you couldn’t see a hand in front of your face. It was a beautiful country, just as the girls were beautiful, not the ugly freaks they had been told to expect. Louise was lovely, not only to look at, but in her temperament. They had been writing to each other for weeks now and with every letter, he learnt a little more about her, about her life at Cottlesham and the children she taught. She made it all seem so pleasant, a million miles away from the death and destruction he witnessed every day. And she understood about his frustration and misery over leaving Rulka and always made him feel better about it. Next time he had a few days’ leave, he’d write and ask if he could visit her.

There were always airmen from Watton enjoying what free time they had in the bar of the Pheasant and Jan was made welcome and was soon exchanging hair-raising stories with them and making jokes. His English was very good, but sometimes he did not see the point of the humour and had to have it explained to him, which caused more hilarity. Louise, glad to see him so relaxed and enjoying himself, sat quietly in a corner and listened.

‘Where did you find him?’ Jenny asked, pausing from collecting glasses to sit down beside her. ‘He’s dishy. He clicked his heels and kissed my hand when he arrived. And he was loaded with flowers. I’m not sure if they were meant for me or you, but I put them in water.’

Louise had guessed where the flowers came from, a glorious bouquet in a range of vibrant colours. ‘I think all the Poles do that. It’s the custom with them.’

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘On a train. The other people in the carriage were being nasty to him and I stuck up for him.’

‘Does Tony know about him?’

‘Of course. I don’t have secrets from Tony. Besides, he’s married.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything these days.’

‘It does to me and it does to him. He adores his wife but he had to leave her behind in Poland and he doesn’t know what’s happened to her. I’ve been trying to cheer him up.’

‘Very successfully, it seems,’ Jenny said, as a gale of laughter came from the other side of the room.

Jan was laughing but Louise detected the underlying strain he was under. There were dark rings round his eyes and the blue eyes themselves were bleak. This was a man almost at the end of his tether.

‘Where’s Tony now?’

‘Near London somewhere.’

‘Not the best place to be right now.’

The first raid of the Blitz had been bad enough but that had only been the beginning; the constant bombing night after night was exhausting the population and the night before had been the worst yet. According to Jan, a pall of acrid smoke hung over the city, bits of blackened paper and charred rags drifted about on the breeze and there was broken glass, brick and cement dust everywhere, even some distance from the destruction. The government had admitted in news bulletins that thousands of people had been made homeless and thousands more were without water, gas or electricity. The House of Commons had been reduced to rubble and many other famous landmarks damaged. And it wasn’t only Londoners who suffered; other big cities had been subjected to their share. It was a bad time everywhere. Greece had fallen, Germany had invaded Crete, there was fierce fighting in North Africa where the Germans
had gone to the aid of the Italians, and Malta was being bombed out of existence. Everyone was feeling and looking drab. What was needed was some good news to cheer everyone up.

‘I know,’ Louise said. ‘But he tells me he isn’t in active combat. I think he’s got a desk job.’

‘That’s a waste of a good pilot, don’t you think?’

‘Perhaps, but I’m not complaining. Jan has been getting more and more exhausted and I don’t want that for Tony.’

‘When will you see him again? Tony, I mean.’

‘He’s due some leave, but hasn’t been able to get away. Soon, I hope.’

‘Time, gentlemen please,’ Stan called from behind the bar.

The RAF men drained their glasses and left to pile into the Humber car that had brought them from the airfield and were soon gone. Jan came and sat down beside Louise. ‘I like your friends,’ he said, watching Stan slide the bolts in place on the door. Jenny was hanging tea towels over the pumps on the bar.

‘And I’m sure they like you.’

‘They fly Blenheims. That’s what I was doing when I first came to England.’

‘Yes, and I recall you didn’t think much to it.’

He laughed. ‘We have to do the job given to us, don’t we?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed.

‘I am glad I met you. I think I was going a little bit mad before, becoming reckless, and that is not good.’

‘Glad to help. Have you heard any news of your wife?’

‘No, none. The people at home have ways of communicating with the Polish government in London and sometimes we hear things, but not often and then we don’t know how reliable it is, or how old. I think it is perhaps dangerous for the people at home to send messages and the London government-in-exile cannot waste
time trying to find out about individuals. It is not easy, so many have died …’ His voice faded.

She put a hand over his. ‘Don’t despair, Jan. The war will end one day.’

‘That was almost the last thing I said to Rulka, “The war will end and I will come back …”’

‘Hang on to that thought.’

‘I am trying. Have you heard from your Tony?’

‘Yes. He writes that he is busy, though what he’s busy doing, I have no idea.’

‘But he is in England?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he doesn’t mind that you write to me and let me come and stay with you?’

‘You are not exactly staying with me, are you? We are both staying at the Pheasant which is a respectable public house. Yes, he knows. He said if he was in your shoes he would be glad to have someone to cheer him up.’

‘You do cheer me up. You make my stay in England not so bad. If I did not have Rulka and you did not have Tony …’

‘Yes, I know.’ She stood up, unwilling to continue that topic. ‘It’s time I went to bed.’

He followed her from the room and up the stairs. On the landing, she stopped outside her door. ‘Goodnight, Jan.’

‘Goodnight, Louise.’ He took her hand and put it to his lips in his usual fashion, then grabbed both her shoulders and pulled her forward to kiss her cheeks, first one, then the other. ‘That is the kiss of a true friend and I am your friend, should you ever need one.’

‘I know,’ she whispered and fled into her room, closing the door and leaning back against it. Was Jan getting a little too amorous? How could she tell? She had so little experience of the ways of
men, particularly of men living with danger every day of their lives. Did it change their character, make them more impulsive, less likely to consider the consequences of what they did? Did they care more, or less?

She crossed the room and stood looking out of the window at the night sky. It was a clear night, the half-moon was bright; the bombers would be back and Jan’s colleagues would be up there, fending them off. But not Jan, not tonight. He was probably already asleep in the next room, dreaming of his Rulka. Poor man, he had so wanted a friend and it had only been a friendly peck on the cheek to say thank you. She pulled the blackout curtains shut and switched on the light so that she could see to undress. Tomorrow, after church, she would take him round the village and introduce him to a few people, so that he could make more friends.

Jan returned to Northolt at the end of his leave more relaxed than he had been since leaving Poland. The nightly terror visited on London hardly touched the people in the rural communities and, unless they had friends or relatives in areas being bombed, they had no real idea of what it was like to crouch in shelters night after night and listen to their houses crumpling and burning. The Cottlesham people were aware of aeroplanes droning overhead, heard about the raids on the daily BBC bulletins and read about them in the newspapers, but that was second-hand and not real. Jan would not have dreamt of trying to explain it to them, instead he had enjoyed talk of farming and country lore, watched Cottlesham men playing cricket and laughed when Louise tried to explain the game to him. ‘There are eleven men in each team,’ she said. ‘The idea is for the team that’s in to get as many runs as possible before getting out. When they are all out, they come in and the other team goes out.’

‘I see, it is a game of in and out,’ he said laughing. ‘Which is the team that’s in?’

‘Cottlesham. Bill Young and Graham Wayne are batting. Swaffham are fielding.’

‘But there are only two Cottlesham men out there. Where are the rest?’

‘Waiting to go in to bat when the other two are out. Watch and learn.’

He was no nearer an understanding at the end of the game than he had been at the beginning, but it had been enjoyable just sitting in a deckchair next to Louise, doing nothing but tease each other.

He liked England; it was so green, with its narrow lanes and hedges, it’s gently rolling hills, its bustling towns and picturesque villages, its farms and grand houses. It wasn’t Poland, of course, but it would be a good country to settle in if he could not go back home. Whatever put that idea into his head? Of course he would go home. Rulka was there. He had to keep telling himself that because she was becoming more and more distant as if she were floating out of his reach, up among the stars, further away each day, and it was difficult to see her face when he shut his eyes. All he had was that well-thumbed snapshot to remind him what she looked like and he consulted it constantly. If he didn’t see her soon, touch her, talk to her, his love for her would become a thing of dreams, ephemeral, not real. And dreams fade …

He pulled himself together as the train drew into Liverpool Street station and came to a stop. He picked up his haversack and left the train. The reality was that he had a job to do, a war to win, and he had better concentrate on that. Rulka would wait for him.

With the threat of invasion over, Tony and his colleagues were kept busy monitoring the German navy. It was vital to keep the Atlantic sea lanes open so that supplies could get through. In spite of everyone’s best efforts too much shipping was being sunk, by surface craft and submarines. Two German battle cruisers, the
Scharnhorst
and the
Gneisenau
had left the docks at Kiel and were creating havoc with shipping, but could not be found and engaged. Then regular reconnaissance pictures being taken of Brest harbour showed them in dock being refitted. Tony had braved frightening anti-aircraft fire to bring back his pictures but he had come back with only a few holes in his fuselage and was jubilant when he heard the
Gneisenau
had been so badly damaged by torpedo bombers it would be out of commission for months. The job he was doing was definitely worthwhile.

But the prize was the
Bismarck
, Germany’s newest, biggest and fastest battleship, but so far it had stayed in its moorings in the Baltic, out of range of reconnaissance aircraft. But that was to change. The British naval attaché in Stockholm alerted the
Admiralty in May 1941 that the ship had been spotted crossing the Baltic, presumably on its way to the Atlantic. Two pilots in the reconnaissance team stationed in Wick in Scotland were sent out to investigate. What the cameras on Pilot Officer Suckling’s aircraft had recorded was confirmed as soon as he landed and the film was processed and sent down to RAF Medmenham where the interpretation unit had relocated after the Wembley station had been bombed. There was no doubt he had filmed the
Bismarck
.

The find caused great excitement and all the resources of the PRU were used to keep track of her while the navy assembled an armada to sink her. Tony was sent to Scotland to reinforce the small team there, and was soon flying over the Norwegian fjords. He was not as familiar with this coastline with its jagged cliffs and tiny offshore islands as he had been of the coast of France and the Low Countries; it took all his navigational skills to identify where he was. Finding his way back to Wick after taking his pictures was even more nerve-racking. Below him was three hundred miles of cold, grey ocean. Even a tiny error in navigation could result in him missing the Shetland Islands where he could pinpoint his position and turn south. Miss those and he would find himself heading out into the north Atlantic and running out of fuel.

He was keyed up to fever pitch as he peered out of the cockpit, looking for the tiny islands. He dropped down low to check on something he had caught sight of below him. It was not an island but a ship, a very large ship, and it had spotted him. The big guns opened up. He had no defence. He was hit but still hoped to climb out of trouble, but the aircraft refused to respond. And then the cockpit exploded in a ball of fire. He didn’t feel a thing as the Spitfire spiralled out of control and hit the sea like a fiery comet …

The sinking of the
Bismarck
was the good news everyone had been praying for. The great ship had been tracked going all round
the north of Iceland and then turning south into the mid Atlantic. On the way it had sunk the
Hood
, the navy’s biggest battle cruiser which went down in four minutes with only three survivors out of a crew of nearly one and a half thousand. Bent on revenge, the ships of the navy went after the
Bismarck
, and though they lost her for a time, reconnaissance found her again, apparently making for Brest. The armada subjected her to a series of torpedo attacks, one of which damaged her steering gear so badly she lost control and could only drift round and round in circles.
HMS Rodney
and
George V
went in for the kill. Hundreds of shells set the great ship on fire. It finally went down two hours later. The newspapers made a great story of it and the country rejoiced.

Louise had agreed that it was good news, but other matters, closer to home, had claimed her attention. It had been a trying day at school. Tommy had had a fierce fight with Freddie Jones which had resulted in bloodied noses on both sides. Neither would say what they had been fighting about. Louise was well aware that some of the children called Tommy ‘teacher’s pet’, an epithet he hated and one which made him react ferociously; it might have been that. She had given them both a dressing-down and sent them to John Langford, the ultimate punishment as far as the children were concerned. John didn’t like using the cane, but sometimes he felt it was necessary, and on this occasion the boys had stinging hands to add to their bloody noses. Tommy felt he had been victimised and looked to her for comfort, but of course she could not give it; if anything she had to be extra strict with him or he would suffer more. She resolved to have a serious talk with him after tea and find out what was really going on.

‘There was a phone call for you this afternoon,’ Jenny said as soon as she arrived home that sunny afternoon.

Louise brightened. ‘Tony?’

‘No, his father. He said to ring him back. I left the number on the pad.’

Louise went out into the hall where there was a pay phone and asked the operator for the Witham number. It was picked up as soon as it rang. ‘It’s Louise, Mr Walsh.’

‘My dear, I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

She listened to what he said, but couldn’t take it in. ‘What on earth was he doing in the North Atlantic?’ she queried. ‘He’s stationed at Heston, not Scotland, and he wasn’t flying at all. It can’t be true.’

‘Seems he was moved to Wick two days ago and he
was
flying, Louise, he had been all along.’ The voice at the other end of the line was quiet but his words were clear enough.

‘Are you sure there hasn’t been some dreadful mistake?’

‘No, Louise, no mistake. His squadron leader has been to see us. He told us Tony disappeared on a mission.’

‘Disappeared doesn’t mean dead.’ She was fighting growing panic by questioning everything. Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly hold the receiver.

‘In this case, I am afraid it does.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘We didn’t want to believe it either but we had to face the truth, just as you have to. Peggy is devastated. I must ring off to look after her. Come over if you want to talk.’

Of course she wanted to talk! She replaced the receiver and wandered into the kitchen, too numb to think straight. Jenny stopped what she was doing to go to her. ‘Louise, what’s happened? You look white as a sheet. Is it Tony?’

She nodded and then the dam burst behind her eyes and she fell against her friend sobbing.

Jenny put her arms round her and said nothing. When the
tears had subsided a little, she led her to the sitting room and sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘Tell me what happened,’ she said.

‘He was on a reconnaissance mission tracking the
Bismarck
and he didn’t come back,’ she managed to say between sobs. ‘I didn’t know he was flying. He told me he wouldn’t be asked to kill anyone and he was pleased about that. He lied, Jenny, he lied to me.’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want to worry you. In any case, do the reconnaissance people fight? Aren’t they just supposed to take pictures?’

‘I don’t know. Oh, Jenny, what am I going to do without him? I loved him so and we had such plans …’ Stricken, she twisted her engagement ring round and round until it dropped off in her lap. Appalled, she grabbed it and put it back on her finger and started to cry again. Jenny took her in her arms and rocked her like a baby. Stan came in, took one look at them and silently disappeared again.

At last Louise stopped crying, mopped her eyes with her already sodden handkerchief and said, ‘I must go to his parents. We have to talk.’

‘Of course. First thing in the morning. I’ll tell Mr Langford, he’ll look after your class. Stan will take you to the station in the pony and trap.’

It didn’t seem real and yet she knew it was and cried all night until exhaustion overtook her just before dawn and she managed an hour or two’s sleep. She rose next morning and looked in the mirror at red swollen eyes and blotched cheeks. There was nothing she could do about them. And it didn’t matter anyway. When she arrived in Witham, she saw that Peggy’s face was just as bad. They clung to each other and wept, before either of them said a word.

‘Tell me what happened,’ Louise said, when they recovered enough to talk and Philip had made them tea.

‘Squadron Leader Tuttle came and broke the news to us,’ he said. ‘Tony went out to track the
Bismarck
and he didn’t come back.’

‘Could he have landed somewhere?’

‘That’s what I asked,’ Peggy said. ‘But the Squadron Leader said there was nowhere for him to land, it’s just miles and miles of sea, but they had checked everywhere within his range in case he had got lost and put down, but there was no sign of him. And then another aircraft reported seeing a fighter being attacked by a ship and going down into the sea. He wasn’t able to identify it, but it was exactly where Tony would have been on his way back to base. And all other missing aircraft had been accounted for.’

‘He was a first-class navigator, he wouldn’t have got lost,’ Philip put in. ‘The Squadron Leader was sure of that.’

‘So he’s really gone?’ Louise felt numb. The tears had dried up and she had no more to shed. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘What can we do, but carry on?’ Philip said. ‘Other people are suffering just as we are suffering. We are not alone.’

‘That doesn’t help,’ Peggy retorted sharply.

‘I know, my love, I know. Shall I make us some lunch?’

‘I can’t eat anything.’

‘Neither can I,’ Louise added.

He made more tea and they sat drinking it and talking about Tony. Philip and Peggy recalled incidents in his life, some of them amusing enough to raise a wan smile, and Louise listened and tried not to think about the plans they had made which would never come to fruition. Tony, her love, was gone. She would never see him again.

She left them in the middle of the afternoon and went home
to Edgware to tell her parents the sad news. Her mother was sympathetic but her father was non-committal. The fact that Louise was desperately unhappy seemed to pass over his head. ‘It’s happened to a lot of people in this war,’ he said. ‘You’ll get over it.’ Which was not something she was ready to hear.

‘Don’t you care?’

He shrugged. ‘It is God’s will. Whether I care or not is irrelevant.’

She gave up, hugged her mother and said, ‘I must get back to Cottlesham.’

She had intended to stay the night but in the face of her father’s indifference could not bear to spend a moment longer with him. At Cottlesham she would learn to pick up the pieces of her life among friends and do the job she was paid to do.

‘If the siren goes, mind you take shelter,’ her mother called after her as she walked down the garden path.

Jan read Louise’s letter for a second time and his heart went out to her. She was trying to be brave and practical but it was obvious it was a struggle. He knew how that felt. She had befriended him and cheered him up when he needed it and he had said he was her friend. Saying it was one thing, now it was time to prove it. He applied for a long-overdue pass and went down to Cottlesham.

‘She is at school,’ Jenny told him when he arrived. ‘Her lot are on mornings this week, so she’ll finish at half past twelve. She’ll be pleased to see you. Poor thing, it’s been hard for her, but she’s coping.’

He went to meet her, standing outside the school gate as the London children tumbled out and ran off for an afternoon of freedom, and the village children filled the playground in their place. Tommy, with Beattie tagging along, spotted him. ‘Uncle
Jan,’ he called. ‘Are you going to walk home with us?’

‘Not today, Tommy. I’ll wait for Miss Fairhurst. You go along. We will follow.’

The road emptied, the evacuees had gone, the village children had disappeared inside the building. He began to wonder if he had missed her. And then she was crossing the playground towards him. Her head was down and she did not immediately see him standing beside the gate and he was able to watch her. She was thinner and paler than he remembered and she walked without the usual spring in her step. ‘Louise,’ he said softly.

Startled she looked up to see him standing there, holding out his arms to her. She ran into them. ‘Jan! Oh, Jan, I hoped you would come.’

‘And I have come. My friend needs me, so here I am.’

He took her by the hand and led her away from the school. ‘Do you want to go home or shall we go for a walk?’

‘Let’s walk.’

They turned onto the common. It was rough ground, dotted with blackberry brambles, elderberry bushes and crab apple trees, which provided the villagers with fruit in due season. It was also used as rough pasture; there were a couple of tethered cows grazing its lush grass and a rabbit scuttled away as they approached. At that time of day there was no one about but the animals.

He put the hand he held to his lips. ‘Tell me,’ he said softly.

‘He was on reconnaissance and was shot down. He didn’t even have a gun on his aeroplane. I didn’t know he was flying, he told me he wouldn’t have to kill anyone. I didn’t realise he meant he was unarmed.’

‘It might not have made any difference.’

‘Perhaps not. I’ll never know, will I?’

‘He died doing what he wanted to do, to be of use and yet not kill. Take comfort from that.’

‘I do try.’

‘You are very brave.’

‘Me? No, I am not brave. I am hurt and angry and miserable.’

‘Oh, my dear one, I feel for you. If I could take away that hurt and anger and help you to smile again, I would. Tell me how.’

‘I don’t know how. Just be you.’

He stopped to fold her in his arms, holding her tight against him. ‘I am as lost and uncertain as you are,’ he murmured. ‘But for what it’s worth, I’m here for you.’

‘Thank you.’ She lifted her head to kiss his cheek. ‘I needed someone to give me a cuddle.’

‘Cuddle, what is that? I have not heard that word.’

She sometimes forgot that his English vocabulary had gaps. ‘Holding someone to comfort them.’