Churchill’s Angels (28 page)

‘I do, indeed, Daisy. Now come on into the office. I’ll make a cuppa and then you can take one up to Ernie in his booth. He’ll be that delighted to see you.’

Soon they were sitting in the ticket booth chattering away. Mrs Brewer showed Daisy several professional photographs of Sally and talked about all the struggles that beset aspiring actresses.

‘And it’s not just auditioning for parts, Daisy, love, but – maybe I shouldn’t say but there’s some men in the business who are … who are … let’s just say who are far from being gentlemen. But I dare say a pretty girl like you has trouble too.’

Daisy was sure her eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline as she listened to Sally’s mother talk. ‘Gosh, no, Mrs Brewer. I work with other women mostly and we’re studying all the time. Not much time to meet men, bad or good.’

‘But you’re in the air force. There’s thousands of men there.’

‘The WAAF isn’t the RAF. We’re auxiliaries, helpers, and we’re all women. All the men from the RAF that I’ve met have been …’ she thought for a moment: Adair, Sergeant Gordon. Wing Commander Anstruther, Wing Commander Sapenak, ‘… they’ve been just super.’

‘Oh, I’m glad. Not had time to find someone to walk out with then?’

How to answer truthfully? ‘I’ll be off on a course any minute now, Mrs Brewer, and I’ll be burning the midnight oil studying.’

‘That’s my Sally too. Now why don’t you take a cuppa up to Ernie? Would you believe that he gets lonely – night after night, even Sundays now, packed cinema, and he’s lonely. Seems a lifetime ago that you four just couldn’t be prised apart and now … Here, give him a bit of chocolate too.’

‘We’re still friends, Mrs B. It’s only distance that separates us.’

‘I hope so, love. Now give us a kiss and don’t spill Ernie’s tea.’

Quite difficult not to spill tea when being ferociously hugged but Daisy managed to extricate herself without accident and walked off across the pseudo-marble floor and up the wide red-carpeted stairs until she found the little booth where Sally’s father spent most of his time.

His welcome was not quite so exuberant as his wife’s but he was obviously delighted to see Daisy.

‘Saw wee Grace at Christmas,’ he said as he drank his tea. He shook his head and was silent for a moment before carrying on. ‘What a mess that was, but at least she knows she’s got a home with Brewers and Petries. Grace hoped there might be some family information among Megan’s papers but couldn’t find a thing, not a photograph, a Christmas card, nothing.’

‘Which probably proves that Megan didn’t like her family or they didn’t like her.’

‘I think that’s it. But we couldn’t find anything about Grace. Where did she come from? She can’t remember. Who put her on the train? She thinks it was a nun. Where did the train come from? No idea, but there was talk at the time about Scotland – or was it Ireland? We hear from her now and again. Not much time for writing but she’s happy.’

Again there was a silence for a moment as each thought.

‘Have you told her about Sam’s escape?’

Startled, Daisy looked at him. ‘I never even thought, Mr Brewer. I’ll write to her this afternoon. Some friend, me.’

‘Don’t worry, Daisy, love. Grace had a thing about your Sam, big handsome lad who was always kind to her. It was the same as my Sally and all those film stars. Means nothing.’

‘Happen you’re right,’ said Daisy as they hugged goodbye. But I don’t think you are, she said to herself as she walked briskly home.

‘Had a nice chat?’ her father asked as she came into the shop.

‘Lovely, but Sally’s mum’s lost weight.’

‘I hope you told her you noticed. She’s right proud of it because she’s taking a class at the YWCA.’

‘There never was anything of her before.’

‘Thin lot, all her family.’ He took his chamois leather cloth from under the counter and moved over to wipe a squashed fly off the display window. ‘There’s a brown envelope for you, Daisy. Mum’s got it.’

‘Oh, great. Fantastic.’ She started for the stairs.

‘You’re so keen to leave us, love?’

Daisy stopped and turned to him. ‘Never. I was scared I’d been told and lost the information. Talk later.’ She turned again and fled upstairs.

The message was more or less the same as the initial one. Aircraftswoman Petrie was to travel by train – a travel warrant was included – to RAF Halton in Buckinghamshire, where she was to take up her new duties.

The much-used atlas was pressed into service by an excited Daisy. She knew that RAF Halton was a major technical training school that had, in fact, been established during the Great War. But where exactly was Buckinghamshire, and where was the town of Wendover or indeed the little village of Halton?

She was delighted to find that her new base was only thirty-five miles or so from London. That meant visits home during her eighteen weeks of training might not be impossible. That would please her parents.

Two days later Daisy arrived at RAF Halton but, this time, she was not with one other slightly nervous recruit. The railway station was wall-to-wall blue uniforms, both men and women. She looked round hopefully but there was not a single face that she even remotely recognised. Her grief at Charlie’s loss welled up more powerfully than ever and she fought desperately to control herself. Had Charlie been there she would have been making friends all over the place, but Daisy was not Charlie.

Daisy picked up her bags and followed the heaving mass of humanity out of the station. She travelled to the base on a bus that, like the station, was crowded, and the noise level reminded her of her one and only school trip to London. How her teenage friends had shouted and sung. Enough to give anyone a headache.

‘Bella White.’ The WAAF in the window seat introduced herself. ‘You look like a rabbit caught in headlights. Relax. They’re nervous.’ She held out her hand and Daisy shook it.

‘Daisy Petrie,’ she said.

They chatted all the way to the camp, as Bella was not slow to ask questions or to tell part of her personal history if the conversation lagged. She was twenty years old, lived with her mother and grandmother in Derby and had worked as the receptionist in an office. She could type, did not take shorthand, could file, and was used to making and receiving telephone calls.

‘My boyfriend told me he preferred my cousin, Sheila. He had to, since I found them … let’s say in a fairly compromising situation when I visited my aunt Flo’s flat. Two years I walked out with him and didn’t allow no funny stuff, not without a ring on my finger. Seems Sheila’s allergic to base metals. So I joined up, left them high and dry. You have a lad?’

Daisy, who was not quite sure what the unknown Sheila’s allergy had to do with anything, said, ‘I’m not walking out with anyone.’

‘Well, there’s plenty of spare men around Halton; you’ll soon find one.’

Daisy wondered if Bella had enlisted simply because of the abundance of unmarried men. She would not ask but was quite sure Bella would have told her had she dared – or cared.

‘I was a shop assistant before I enlisted,’ she said, ‘but I always wanted to do something more exciting. Being a receptionist in an office must have been quite interesting.’

‘Bored me silly. I joined the WAAF because I thought it would be more fun – really thought they’d plonk me behind a typewriter. Just think, maybe I could have typed a letter to Mr Churchill, but they said I showed aptitude for engineering. Don’t know that I believe them; my mum read in the paper as how they just can’t get enough technicians to keep our planes in the air. Well, I’m not stupid and I don’t mind working hard. This war’s giving a lot of us a chance to better ourselves. What kind of shop did you work in – department store, I should think by looking at you.’

‘Me in a department store? No, Bella. I worked in a small grocery shop; dried peas, porridge oats, eggs, tea, just the things families need every day.’

‘You’ve got a look of class, not class like that frozen pea over there – ’ she pointed to a young woman in a really beautiful two-piece costume – ‘but still class.’

Daisy had no idea whether or not to say thank you but by then they had arrived at the camp.

If she had thought Wilmslow large, RAF Halton was endless, and she laughed a little as she thought of herself and Charlie hobbling up the main road at Wilmslow in their best shoes. They wouldn’t catch her this time. She was a seasoned WAAF, in good sturdy military-issue shoes.

Hours later she lay exhausted in her bed in a large hut with twenty or so other women. Bella was not among them and she hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry. Snores and the lighter noises made by sleepers whistled around the long bare room, and Daisy lay waiting for sleep, missing her family, thinking of Adair and too aware of her resurrected grief at Charlie’s death.

Do it for Charlie.
The voice echoed in her head together with her own promise to an unknown little child on Dartford Heath. Excitement grew in her. She had passed one hurdle and was now even closer to her dream. In eighteen weeks, a mere four and a half months, she would be fully qualified to work on aircraft engines.

But was that all she wanted? Was it even remotely possible that one day she might fly, not a Spitfire or a Lancaster but a small plane like the
Daisy
? But how? There were no pilots in the WAAF, and the Air Transport Auxiliary was staffed by civilians. Had she enlisted too quickly?

She lay for some time looking at positives and negatives. There were so many positives. In the WAAF she had learned skills and she had found and lost a friend.
Do you like me enough to kiss me, Daisy?
The voice echoed in her head and she smiled at the very sound. Surely being a WAAF had brought her closer to Adair, and made it easier for her to have another flying lesson. Halton looked as if it was stacked with aircraft. Perhaps here, there would be more opportunities. Excitement at that blissful thought was making sleep impossible, but with her first full day on the course ahead of her she needed to sleep.

She turned over onto her right side, her favourite sleeping position, but the last thought she had before finally falling into a disturbed sleep was, once again: the ATA is a civilian organisation. How could that be overcome?

The next three days were soon a blur in her memory, so full were they of activity and change. She began to recognise some of the other women and girls in her hut and in her unit. Mainly they were known by their surnames, as that is how the instructors addressed them. It seemed that she never sat beside the same WAAF twice in a row at a class or even in the mess hall, and had totally forgotten Bella until they found themselves in the same line for dinner.

‘Great camp, Daisy, don’t you think? A swimming pool and a cinema, for starters, and have you seen the Officers’ Club – it’s a stately home, for goodness’ sake – I’d love to get in there. I’m going into Aylesbury on Saturday to buy a swimming costume. Come with me and we can come back in time for the “Welcome New Recruits” dance.’

Daisy had no wish to hurt Bella; she had been very kind and friendly on the bus, but she wanted to really know her way around before she made decisions about friendships or anything else. ‘I haven’t got my bearings yet, Bella; I was planning to have a good look around and to write letters at the weekend, but thanks.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘How are you enjoying the course?’

Bella smiled. ‘Haven’t a clue, but one of the mechanics is giving me a bit of extra help. He might come in with me on Saturday. I could ask him to bring a mate.’

‘Not this Saturday, Bella, maybe another week.’

‘So you are as stuck up as Miss Frozen Pea. Your loss,’ said Bella, and turned away to start picking up her meal.

Feeling rather miserable, Daisy had no choice but to follow her and when she had her selection she walked around the hut looking for a seat.

‘Seat here, Petrie,’ called a WAAF, waving madly.

Thankfully Daisy sat down at a table where several WAAFs were seated and, thankfully, recognised two from her billet. It was the most enjoyable meal she had had since she arrived. The food was … nourishing, she decided was the best word to describe it, but with the two girls, Joan and Maggie, introducing themselves – and all the others calling out their names and smiling a welcome – she began to feel part of the camp.

In one of their first lectures the recruits had been told much of the history of the base. It had been a private estate owned by the de Rothschild family. Before the Great War, the then owner had offered the estate to the army for summer manoeuvres. His initial generous offer had expanded as the war had gone on, and in 1917 a technical school had been established on the estate. By the end of the war, thousands of well-trained technicians had passed though its doors. In 1919 the estate was bought by the War Office to be the training base for officer cadets in the newly formed Royal Air Force.

Daisy could hardly believe that her own Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, had been a key figure in the forming of the air force.

Dad’ll be fascinated by that, she thought, him being a big fan of Mr Churchill, and just think, because of something our Prime Minister said before I was even born, I’m here learning a life-changing trade and so are thousands of other people, men and women.

She was more excited and inspired than ever. Even if she never flew she would help keep planes flying, and all those pilots would be thinking of people like the boy on the Heath, his mum, Charlie and her dad.

I’m here to learn, she told herself, and that comes before any old swimming pool.

It was her training instructor who talked to her about mixing business and pleasure.

‘You’re doing well, Daisy, you’re a natural, but I never see you around the base or going into Wendover or even Halton; nice little village. All work and no play. Not good. I am ordering you to go to the cinema on Friday night. Errol Flynn’s on. You women like him.’

‘Not as much as he likes himself, Corporal. James Stewart, now …’

‘I don’t care who it is, girl. Go to the cinema.’

Daisy looked at him. Corporal Singer was not all that much older than she was, ten, fifteen years maybe. He was not much taller either, which some of the girls said spoiled his chances. Daisy did not think height or age would concern her too much if she really liked someone, and Corporal Singer was likeable. He was terrific at his job; there was nothing about aircraft engines that he did not know and, possibly more importantly, he was very patient. Once or twice one of her fellow WAAFs had burst into tears of frustration – but the trainer merely continued calmly and allowed the girl to recover without making a show of her. Not all the trainers were patient. Many, in fact, made it clear right from the start that they had no tolerance for women in the services, except as cooks and cleaners. That attitude often led to hostility.