Some Lucky Day (31 page)

‘But they went ahead anyway,’ muttered Ron.

Maurice gave a deep sigh. ‘Churchill was in a difficult position, because he had to appease both the Americans and the Russians, and needed to be seen to be doing something decisive – but a cross-Channel raid was a huge risk. Mountbatten argued that Dieppe was the only choice, for there was no other target that could be reconnoitred by Combined Ops in time to mount another big raid this year.’

Maurice gave up chewing his pipe stem and shoved it in his jacket pocket. ‘Operation Jubilee went ahead with a force of around six thousand, nearly five thousand of which were Canadian – the rest were Commandos, Americans and official observers. The Royal Navy assembled two hundred and fifty-two ships and landing craft, and the RAF provided sixty-three squadrons which included light bombers, two bomb-carrying Hurricanes and fifty-six fighters.’

‘I can’t tell you the finer details, Ron, but our communications were all but non-existent through some almighty cock-up, and there was a fatal delay in getting the landing craft ashore before the sun came up. There was a German convoy hugging the coast of France at the time, and our fleet ran straight into it.’

He dipped his chin, his voice breaking with emotion as he continued his tragic story. ‘Our destroyer, HMS
Berkeley
, and thirty-three landing craft were sunk with five hundred and fifty dead or wounded. The RAF lost one hundred and six aircraft, with sixty-two killed, thirty wounded and seventeen posted as missing. And the British Commandos lost two hundred and forty-seven men. But the Canadians bore the brunt of the losses, for nine hundred men were killed, hundreds more were injured, and it’s just been confirmed that nearly two thousand were taken prisoner.’

Maurice gave a shuddering sigh. ‘All in all, it was a complete and absolute disaster.’

Ron placed his hand on the slumped shoulder and gave it a squeeze of understanding, for he could see the anguish in the other man’s face and knew there were no words that could bring him comfort. The tragic loss of so many young lives was a heavy burden to bear, and Ron suspected that his friend felt each and every one of them personally.

Kitty had enjoyed sitting back and listening to Doreen chattering away to her friends from Bow, and although she’d only understood part of what they were saying, she’d felt quite sorry to have to leave them when she’d had to go back to the gym for her final session of the day.

Ethel was quite a character, with an acerbic outer shell that hid a caring and rather worried mother. Ruby was more gentle, but having heard the terrible story behind her coming to Cliffehaven from Ethel, Kitty suspected that there was a core of steel beneath that sweetness.

Kitty had come to the conclusion that they were born survivors, and regardless of might happen next, they would come through. But she understood Ethel’s concern over Ruby’s blossoming relationship with Mike Taylor, for sooner or later the girl would have to make some tough decisions.

Kitty had worked hard during that half hour in the gym, and had almost fallen asleep over her supper despite the excited chatter going on around her. The news of the raid was no longer a secret after the sudden influx of so many injured Canadians. Speculation was rife and the gossip-mill was grinding deep and swiftly, for although it was now known that the disaster had happened off the coast of Dieppe, there was precious little further information.

It appeared that all those taking part had been ordered to say nothing, and Kitty could only assume that Mike had been so heavily drugged, he’d been unaware of how careless he’d been to tell Ruby what he did. Doreen seemed to understand this too, and with a tacit agreement between them, neither revealed Mike’s version of the full horror of what had happened on the nineteenth of August.

Kitty had waited until it was clear there would be no visitors for her that night, then, as Doreen entertained her usual coterie of admirers, she curled up in bed and was soon fast asleep.

She woke early and stretched luxuriously. She’d had a very good night’s sleep and was feeling refreshed and eager for the day. Her first session in the gym was scheduled for nine o’clock, so she had plenty of time to have a bath and eat breakfast.

The major luxury of being able to get about on crutches was to use a proper lavatory instead of a bedpan, and to soak in a hot bath. She needed help in and out of it, but the nurse was happy to leave her in solitary splendour for a while, and she relished these quiet moments to herself.

Having finished her bath, she made sure her stump was dry, massaged and powdered, and then applied the bandage and thick sock. Her underwear was utilitarian and came from RAF stores, and as she pulled on the unflattering knickers and fastened her bra, she grimaced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was far too skinny, and her arms looked like a couple of matchsticks. But the scar on her abdomen was fading to silver and her hair had at last begun to grow. It would soon be time to seek out the hairdresser when she came next.

With this thought, Kitty sat down and eased on a pair of lightweight slacks, and fastened the buttons on the thin cotton blouse she’d bought in London at the beginning of the year. Charlotte had thoughtfully packed all her things from the cottage they’d shared and had organised for them to be flown down to Cliffehaven. Roger had turned up the previous week with her two cases, and once he’d gone back to the aerodrome, she’d cried bitter tears over the lovely shoes that she could no longer wear.

Determinedly pushing this memory away, Kitty slipped her foot into a flat sandal, grabbed her crutches and headed for the dining room and breakfast. She had another long and probably tiring day ahead of her, and she couldn’t afford to weaken her resolve by feeling sorry for herself.

The dining room was noisy and crowded as the NAAFI staff served porridge, scrambled dried egg and brown toast. Tea was poured from a huge urn, and there were jugs of milk and orange juice on every table.

Kitty eyed the orange juice with delight. ‘Goodness,’ she breathed as she sat next to Doreen. ‘Where on earth did that come from?’

‘Courtesy of the Yanks, evidently,’ she replied. ‘I just wish they’d give us some decent flamin’ bread. This stuff tastes like something scraped off the bottom of a bird cage.’

Kitty poured some of the juice into her glass and took a sip. ‘It’s made of real oranges,’ she said in awe. She regarded Doreen’s rather sour expression as her friend chewed on the toast. ‘I don’t know how you can possibly compare that bread to the scrapings off a bird cage,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘When was the last time you ate seed pellets and bird droppings?’

Doreen finished chewing and laughed. ‘You know what I mean, Kitty. This stuff looks horrible and tastes worse. What I wouldn’t do for a decent white bloomer, all warm and crusty straight from the oven,’ she added on a sigh.

Kitty’s mouth watered at the thought, but she quickly ate her porridge and dipped into the rapidly cooling scrambled egg. ‘The dried egg isn’t much to write home about either,’ she replied as she regarded the yellow, congealed mess on her friend’s plate. ‘But it’s better than nothing. Aren’t you going to eat that?’

Doreen shook her head. ‘Nah. You ’ave it.’

‘Thanks, it would be a shame to see it go to waste, and I’m ravenous this morning.’ Kitty scraped it onto her own plate, added a healthy dollop of tomato sauce, and tucked into the unappetising-looking food with relish.

‘Gawd, gel,’ said Doreen with a grimace. ‘I don’t know ’ow you do it.’

‘If you eat it quickly it isn’t so bad,’ replied Kitty as she scraped the plate clean.

Doreen rested her elbows on the table and drank her tea as she listened to the gossip going on around her. ‘I popped in to see ’ow Ruby’s bloke was getting on,’ she murmured some minutes later.

‘Trust you,’ teased Kitty. ‘So, did you get to speak to him?’

‘Nah, he were out cold.’ She shot Kitty a lascivious grin. ‘I can see why Ruby’s so taken with ’im,’ she said, ‘’cos even covered in bandages, he’s a bit of all right. He’s got broad shoulders, a lovely brown chest and good strong, muscled arms. I tell you straight, Kitty, I wouldn’t mind ’aving a bit of that.’

‘You’re impossible, Doreen,’ Kitty spluttered in her tea. ‘Leave him alone. He’s spoken for.’

‘Yeah, don’t I know it, and I ain’t one to nick a mate’s feller, but cor,’ she shivered delightedly, ‘he’s one ’andsome bit of stuff and no mistake.’

Kitty giggled as she scraped some margarine onto the dry brown wheatmeal toast. ‘Did you manage to find out how he’s doing while you were ogling him?’

‘He’s doing well, according to the nurse. She says the bullets have been taken out and the fracture in his arm was a clean break, so it should heal quickly.’ She lit a cigarette and stared into the teacup. ‘But they are worried about the sight in his left eye. It seems it were more badly damaged than they thought.’

‘If it doesn’t heal, there’s a good chance he’ll be discharged from his regiment and sent home,’ replied Kitty sadly. ‘Poor Ruby. It seems her budding romance is fated.’

Doreen gave a snort of laughter. ‘You don’t know Ruby,’ she said. ‘Once she gets something in ’er ’ead there ain’t nothing gunna shift it. Mark my words, Kitty – if ’e goes back to Canada she won’t be far behind ’im.’

‘But what about Ethel?’

‘Ethel might moan and groan, but she ain’t got nothing to go back to in London. Her old man’s a right brute, and when ’e gets back from the war he’ll soon be up to ’is old tricks – bashing ’er about and drinking ’er wages.’ Doreen puffed on her cigarette. ‘Nah, I reckon she’ll go where Ruby goes, and if that’s Canada, then good luck to the pair of ’em.’

‘I doubt either of them will be going anywhere until the war’s over,’ said Kitty.

‘Yeah, yer right.’ Doreen stubbed out her cigarette in the small metal ashtray and turned to Kitty, her face rather solemn for once. ‘Speaking of which,’ she said. ‘I’ve been given me marching orders.’

‘No,’ gasped Kitty. ‘Oh, no, Doreen, not already?’

Doreen nodded and squeezed her hand. ‘Sorry, gel, but I ain’t got no choice. They needs me bed.’

Kitty was blinded with tears. ‘When are you leaving?’

‘In half an hour,’ she said as she gave Kitty a swift hug. ‘Don’t get all soppy on me, Kitty. I ’ate goodbyes – and I’m gunna miss you too, and that’s a fact.’

‘I’ll come and see you off,’ said Kitty, reaching for her crutches.

‘Nah, you stay ’ere and finish that toast. I ain’t one for tears and such, but if you comes to wave me orff, then I don’t know what I might do.’

She pushed back from the table, leaning heavily on her walking stick, and gave Kitty a sweet smile. ‘I’ll send you a postcard or two, though me writing’s not up to much.’ She dug in her trouser pocket and handed Kitty a slip of paper. ‘This is the address of me billet down ’ere. I should be back there in a couple of weeks.’

‘I’ll write and let you know what’s happening here,’ Kitty promised as she fought back the tears. ‘And once I’m up and about on two feet again, we’ll have to go out for a celebratory drink or three.’

Doreen smiled although her green eyes were also suspiciously bright. ‘Good luck, mate, and I wanna be there when you climb into yer Spitfire again.’

‘I’ll arrange it, I promise,’ said Kitty, ‘but it could be a while yet.’

The bright ginger hair bounced around Doreen’s face as she shook her head. ‘Nah. The Kitty I know won’t take long at all to get into ’er stride. You’ll be outta here and up in the skies before yer know it.’ She rested her hand on Kitty’s shoulder. Stay safe, gel,’ she murmured, ‘and don’t let the buggers grind you down.’

Kitty watched as she walked away, head high, waving goodbye to everyone. And then she was gone.

As the door clattered behind her, Kitty eyed the cold toast and greasy margarine with distaste and pushed the plate away. Doreen’s departure would leave a huge void. Her vitality and cheerfulness had helped Kitty through those dark first days and she would miss her acutely.

But as the noise in the canteen went on around her, Kitty knew that life had to go on for both of them, and that their friendship was strong enough to endure this brief separation. They would meet again outside this place, she was certain, so there was no point in moping.

She pushed back from the table, grabbed her crutches and went to the pigeonholes in the hall to see if she had any post. Letters from home were always a real boost, and she was in need of some good news.

There were three comic postcards from Charlotte and a letter excitedly detailing her plans for the wedding, and odd snippets of gossip from the ferry pools. She was now sharing the cottage with a girl called Bunty Brown, who was proving to be extremely irritating with her silly chatter, and frightfully untidy.

Kitty smiled at this, for Charlotte wasn’t exactly the most organised of people, and she’d lost count of the times she’d had to hunt for a lost shoe or blouse amongst the piles of clothing she’d left on the floor.

She quickly checked the rest of her mail. There was a saucy seaside postcard from Freddy, who promised to come and see her soon, and another two from Roger telling her to keep her landing gear down and her chin up. Dear Roger. He was such a lovely man, and she counted herself lucky to have him as a friend.

There were two more letters from Charlotte’s mother, who wrote every week to relay village gossip, repeat her invitation for Kitty to come and recuperate at her home, and to keep her up with the plans for the wedding reception. There were more letters from girls in the ATA, another card from Margot Gore, her CO at Hamble Pool, wishing her a speedy recovery and apologies for not coming to visit – and three precious airmails from Argentina.

Kitty longed to tear them open and read them, but caution made her check her watch. She didn’t have time and was already in danger of being late to the gym. With deep regret, she stuffed all the post back into the pigeonhole to savour later, and headed down the long corridor towards the physiotherapy wing.

‘Pilot Officer Pargeter?’

Kitty paused and turned with a frown towards the unfamiliar voice to find that she had been addressed by the new matron – a short, rotund little woman whose shape rather reminded Kitty of a cottage loaf. ‘Yes?’