Bluebirds (19 page)

Her WAAF raincoat was poor protection against the bitter cold of the hangar and her teeth were chattering. Taffy put his arm round her.

‘You're freezing, girl.'

She pulled away from him at once.

‘Don't be scared, Winnie. You're jumpy as a rabbit.'

But she was scared now – alone with him in this dark place.

‘Can we go back now?'

‘What's all the rush? I'll show you some of the others.'

‘No, I want to go back . . .'

She tried to find her way back to the small door they had come in by and tripped over something in the dark. There was a loud clatter of metal on concrete.

‘Wait, girl, you'll hurt yourself.' The torch had tracked and found her. He gripped her elbow. ‘Don't be daft, Winnie, there's lots of sharp things around. Stay with me.'

He guided her across the hangar, lighting their way. Once outside, she began to feel calmer, her panic ebbing, until, suddenly, there was the sound of heavy footsteps coming along the path towards them.

‘Quick! In here.'

Taffy pulled her through a doorway and switched off the torch. They waited, unmoving, while the footsteps went past.

‘Snoops!' Taffy whispered in her ear.

Winnie's heart thudded in her chest. If the service police found them out of bounds and together like this, they could get into terrible trouble . . . She began to shiver and shake. How could she have been so
stupid
?

The footsteps died away and there was silence.

‘Better wait a mo,' Taffy whispered. ‘Make sure they've really gone.'

It was so dark she could see nothing. ‘Where are we?'

‘Stores hut. Don't worry, there's no reason why they should look in here. It'd be safest to wait a bit, though. They might come back this way.'

She trembled violently, and felt him touch her cheek.

‘Why, you're like ice and shaking like you've got the ague. Have this.' He took off his greatcoat and draped it round her shoulders. ‘I don't feel the cold, see. I'm used to it – working outdoors so much.'

He was standing very close to her. She could feel the warmth of his body and smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, and she was more afraid of him now than of the
service policemen patrolling somewhere outside. He was whispering again in her ear.

‘Why don't you like me, Winnie? I'm not such a bad fellow, you know, and you won't even give me a chance.'

She said nothing, rigid with fear . . . trapped.

‘You're the little innocent, aren't you? Like the driven snow. What does that precious Ken of yours do then? Hold your hand at the pictures and then give you a good-night peck on the cheek? I bet he never kisses you like this.'

Her lips fell crushed by his and his tongue was forcing itself into her mouth . . . for a moment she was too shocked to move and then fear and disgust gave her the strength to wrench free of him.

‘Winnie, wait . . .'

But somehow she found the door and was out of the hut and running, sobbing, down the path – straight into the arms of one of the service policemen.

Except for Pearl, none of the WAAFS had ever spent Christmas away from home before. Some of them were homesick all over again. Their mess hut now had a piano and they sang carols round it – Enid weeping her way through ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem'. They had decorated the hut with paper chains and a Christmas tree with painted fir-cones, tinsel and some glittering glass baubles sent by Susan's mother from Harrods. Gloria, to Susan's annoyance, had also strewn cotton wool from sanitary towels along the branches to look like snow.

‘
Must
we have that, Gloria?'

‘Don't see why not. Looks nice and nobody else'll know it's from fanny rags. Ever so useful they are. Just the job for cleanin' shoes. You ought to try them for paddin' so's you wouldn't look so flat on top.'

Anne, overhearing this, smiled to herself. Gloria seldom missed the chance of a dig at Susan. She thought of the big Christmas tree that would be standing in the hall at
home, decorated with all the old ornaments that were brought out of their box each year, and the big star fixed on the very top. The staircase bannisters would be garlanded with holly and a bunch of mistletoe would be hanging over the front door. Just for a moment she let herself picture it all and remember Christmases in the past when she and Kit had been home and they had all been together. And then, because it made her feel miserable, she shut it out of her mind. Closed the door on it firmly. There was no point in wallowing in it. Winnie was looking a bit down in the mouth, she noticed – standing staring out of the window. Perhaps she was thinking about her home in Suffolk. Or maybe she was still upset about that business at the Station Dance. There had been quite a row over her getting caught in a hut with some airman. Everyone had been a bit surprised because it was so unlike Winnie, and nobody thought it was really her fault. Anyway, the airman had taken all the blame, apparently. ASO Newman had come and given them a lecture about not encouraging the men on the station, looking pretty pink in the face herself. As Pearl had said, it was like shutting the stable door after the horses had bolted so far as some of the WAAFS were concerned. There was going to be a concert for the whole station in the evening, as well as a special turkey lunch. All in all, it might not be such a bad Christmas. It might even be quite good fun . . .

Virginia toyed with her roast chicken. She had always dreaded Christmas Day. Mother fussed so much about the preparations for the lunch that it tired her out and put her in a bad mood. It was the same every year. The mood could last for several days and somehow she had to find the courage to tell her about the letter that had come from the Air Ministry, instructing her to report for training on 3 January.

She set down her knife and fork and they clattered noisily against her plate.

‘Mother, I –'

Her mother was frowning. ‘I do wish you'd try to eat more quietly, Virginia. There's no need to bang your knife and fork down like that.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Table manners are so important. I've always told you that. People are judged by the way they eat. Were you going to say something?'

‘No, Mother.'

‘If you've finished then we may as well clear away.'

When they had washed up in the small kitchen and put everything away in its place, they sat down to listen to the King's speech on the wireless. His voice sounded quite firm, with little trace of the stutter.

After the National Anthem her mother switched off the wireless and took out her knitting. Virginia found some darning to do. The rest of Christmas Day stretched emptily and bleakly ahead.

‘Do the blackout, please, Virginia. I need to switch on the lamp. This bad light is hurting my eyes.'

Virginia rose to pull down the blinds and draw the curtains across the windows. She stood for a moment with one hand still holding the curtain edge.

‘What are you doing standing there, Virginia? Come and sit down.'

She let go of the curtain, squared her shoulders and turned round.

‘Mother, please listen. I have something important to tell you.'

On New Year's Eve there was a talent concert on the station. Volunteers went up onto the big hangar stage to entertain the audience. A flight sergeant did amazing conjuring tricks with playing cards, handkerchiefs and lengths of rope, three of the new WAAFS imitated the Andrews sisters, singing together in close harmony, and another WAAF tap-danced. After her, and when the whistles had died down, an airman from one of the cookhouses juggled with spoons and forks, and balanced china plates on the end of a broom handle. Then a spry little cockney corporal stood up and told a string of jokes that few of the WAAFS understood but had all the men laughing uproariously.

Anne's was the final turn. She sang ‘We'll Meet Again' – a Vera Lynn record that was played over and over again on the gramophone in their recreation hut. Afterwards, she led them all in
Auld Lang Syne
and they roared their way through it, arms crossed and linked in long, heaving lines.

The sound carried outside the big hangar where it had started to snow silently and heavily. Soon, the buildings, roads and pathways, hangars, vehicles, aircraft and the great expanse of grass out on the 'drome were all covered in a thick white camouflage. An icy wind began to blow.

It was 1940.

THE SNOW HAD
drifted three foot deep against the north sides of station buildings. Rows of icicles hung like long glass daggers from the eaves, windows were whitely opaque with frost and water pipes everywhere had frozen hard. Leaving one building for another meant braving a razor sharp wind and slipping and sliding over icy ground. There was a 'flu epidemic and the sick quarters were overflowing. RAF and WAAF coughed and sneezed and snuffled. A large party of new WAAFS arrived and one of them developed chicken pox, starting a whole new epidemic. No flying was possible and the station echoed to the ring of picks and shovels instead of to the roar of aircraft engines.

The WAAFS, detailed to help clear the snow, wielded shovels and brooms and were mercilessly snowballed by the men. Ambushes lay in wait for them round every corner as they went about their daily business and they arrived at their destinations with their berets and raincoats plastered with snow and, frequently, a whole lot more of it down the backs of their necks. Anne, in furious retaliation, stockpiled snowballs at secret, strategic points and even carried some round with her to unleash on attackers. It was some consolation to see the pained astonishment on their faces, especially when the snowballs had frozen.

In the evenings the WAAFS huddled round the stoves, taking it in turns to sit nearest the warmest spot in front. At night the hut windows had to be opened in spite of the cold.

‘For our health, would you believe it?' Pearl said
bitterly. ‘If we don't get 'flu we'll die of pneumonia.'

They piled every available blanket, rug and coat onto their beds. Susan's mother had sent her some angora bedsocks, a soft mohair rug and a pair of navy, fur-lined leather gloves to go with her uniform. Predictably, Sergeant Beaty tried to stop her wearing them.

‘Only officers are supposed to wear leather gloves, Courtney-Bennet. All other ranks wear knitted ones, unless they're MT drivers.'

‘But there aren't any knitted ones available, Sergeant. And I get terrible chilblains. The Medical Officer told me I must keep my hands warm.'

When they ran out of their ration of coke for the hut stoves Anne and Pearl were caught pinching some from the station compound and confined to barracks for a week. Gloria, more prudently and more successfully, sweet-talked one of the airmen into getting a big bucketful for her. Maureen, sniffing her disapproval, warmed her hands with the rest.

Once a week, on Fridays, they had Domestic Night when they stayed in their hut to clean their own space, to sew and mend, wash their hair, write letters, polish their shoes and do any other necessary chores. It was also the night when the hut was inspected by their officer. Sergeant Beaty would fling open the door with a crash.

‘Attention!'

They stood beside their beds as Assistant Section Officer Newman walked up one side of the hut and down the other. Their meagre assembly of uniform was laid out neatly for her inspection.

‘There's a button missing off your raincoat, Briggs.'

Winnie stammered. ‘It got lost, ma'am.'

‘See that you get it replaced. And try to make sure they don't come loose, Briggs. Keep them sewn on tightly so it can't happen again.'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

She moved on, pausing at each bed.

‘You should have six collars, Cunningham, not five.
What has happened to the other one?'

‘Someone took it, ma'am.'

‘That's a serious accusation. Do you know who?'

‘No, ma'am.'

‘So, it may equally well have got lost, like Briggs's button.'

‘I suppose so, ma'am.'

‘It's not good enough, you know, Cunningham. Mislaying uniform is a grave matter. You are responsible for every item issued to you. Please make every effort to find that missing collar and report to Corporal White when you do.'

‘What if I don't, ma'am?'

‘I hope you don't mean to be as insubordinate as you sound, Cunningham. If you don't find the collar then the cost of replacing it will be deducted from your pay.'

She stopped next in front of Pearl. ‘You haven't swept under your bed properly, Carter. There's still a lot of dust there. See that it's done immediately.'

There were more lectures: First Aid, RAF Customs and Procedures, King's Regulations, Personal Hygiene and, for some curious reason, Anatomy. An RAF MO delivered this talk with the aid of a human skeleton hanging from a hook. He took it to pieces, bone by bone, laying them out casually on a table, and then re-assembled them equally off-handedly as though he were doing a jigsaw.

‘Sorry, wrong way up there. This little fellow should go the other way up and then it fits like a glove, see.' He waggled the hand bones at them cheerfully and picked up the skull. ‘A skeleton will tell us quite a lot about its owner – height, race, age and so forth, and the skull can give us quite a good picture of what the person looked like. See the shape of the brow over the eye sockets . . . the position of the cheek bones . . . I'd say this chap was somewhere in his mid-forties. If you look at the teeth here –'

There was a crash from the back of the room as Enid slid off her chair in a dead faint.