Some Lucky Day (4 page)

The cows stayed where they were, so she finished her cigarette and was just gathering up her belongings when she heard a shout and saw people running across the far field towards her. Not wanting them to think the worst, she stood on the log and waved her arms about, then began to trudge towards them.

A figure broke away from the group and began to race towards her.

Kitty would have known him anywhere, and she broke into a lumbering run to meet him. ‘Freddy!’ she yelled. ‘It’s all right. I’m not hurt.’

His handsome face was lined with concern as she dropped everything on the ground and threw herself into his open arms. ‘I didn’t know it was you,’ he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion as he held her tightly. ‘We saw the Tiffy disappear and heard the crash, and we all feared the worst.’

She clung to him, glad of his solidity and strength as her legs once again threatened to give way. ‘Honestly, Freddy, I thought I was a goner,’ she managed through chattering teeth. ‘I’ve never been so scared.’

He seemed to realise how wobbly she was for he kept a tight hold of her as he drew back and looked down into her face. He was ashen, his blue eyes dark with an unspoken fear. ‘What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?’ he barked. ‘Don’t you realise you could have damned well killed yourself by pulling a stunt like that?’

She was immediately on the defensive and shoved him away. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Something went wrong with the mechanics and I couldn’t slow the bally thing down.’

He grabbed her to him again and held her tight. ‘I’m sorry I shouted,’ he said gruffly. ‘But you gave me a scare.’

‘Nothing like the scare I gave myself,’ she replied with a catch in her voice.

Roger Makepeace came running up to them, his face pale and anxious. ‘Are you hurt, Kitty?’ he asked.

She forced a smile for Freddy’s wingman and best friend. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me that won’t be cured by a very large gin and a long soak in a hot bath,’ she replied with more than a touch of bravado.

He grinned down at her as he grabbed her parachute harness and overnight bag. ‘You really are the limit, Kitty,’ he said with fond exasperation. ‘There’re not many girls that can prang a kite quite so spectacularly and come out of it without a scratch. You’ve certainly earned both the bath and the gin.’

Kitty walked between them as they headed across the field, but despite her bravado, she discovered that she needed to hold their arms, for her legs felt like jelly.

IN ACCORDANCE WITH
the Standing Orders for Delivery Pilots, which was posted at all ferry pools in case of emergency, Kitty had gone straight to the administration office to ring in her report to Mayfair 120 and get her ongoing orders. She’d then sat down to carefully write the same report for her commanding officer at Central Dispatch Pool. This report had to be signed and sent immediately, for the loss of a plane was serious, and schedules would have to be changed.

Glad that the paperwork was done, Kitty had a quick word with the billeting officer and then dumped her things on a spare bed in the female accommodation hut. Deciding she needed a bath rather more than the large gin, she found the ablutions block, stripped off her clothes and sank with a sigh of pleasure into the permitted few inches of hot water. She ached in places she hadn’t known she had, and there was a lump on her temple the size of a small egg, but the hot water soon eased the sore muscles, and by the time the water had cooled she was feeling much calmer and ready for that gin.

Dressing quickly in clean underwear and a fresh shirt, she pulled on the navy blue uniform skirt and jacket and straightened her tie. The gold flashes on the shoulders and round the cuffs of her jacket, the standard issue black silk stockings, the gold badge on her cap, and the wings sewn above her breast pocket made the outfit very glamorous – though that was not a word that sat easily with the women pilots, for most didn’t consider what they did as glamorous at all. But they agreed that it turned heads, secured the best hotel rooms and restaurant tables and represented a certain exciting and daring image of which they were very proud.

Kitty fluffed out her thick, wavy fair hair which had been trimmed to regulation length just above her collar, and carefully placed the cap so the front point was directly over her right brow. A dash of lipstick and a dab of powder over the swelling on her temple, and she was ready.

It was like being struck by a wall of sound as she stepped into the smoky atmosphere of the Officers’ Mess. There was a game of pirates going on, and she stood by the door with some of the other girls from the ATA and watched the fun as grown men tried to get around the vast room without touching the floor.

Freddy, of course, was in the thick of it, his fair hair flopping over his eyes, his tie askew, shirtsleeves rolled up as he swung from a rafter, landed delicately onto a chair, which he balanced on two legs, before hopping off onto a narrow windowsill and running along it to another rafter.

He was being pursued with great gusto by the rather burly Roger Makepeace, who was about as delicate and nimble as a rugby prop forward, but to give him his due, he was doing rather well until he tried to copy Freddy’s trick with the chair and landed with a great thud in the middle of a table.

Great shouts of laughter boomed out as the table collapsed and Roger was covered in the contents of bottles, glasses and ashtrays. More shouts rang out as Freddy reached the bar which was the end of the circuit, slid along it and landed on the piano stool, where he began to thump out Chopsticks on the out-of-tune keys.

Kitty exchanged a knowing glance with the ATA girl standing beside her as Roger was helped to his feet, dusted down and handed a pint of beer. They’d seen it all before in just about every RAF mess they’d been in. These brave boys lived on a knife-edge every day, and the long roll call of those who hadn’t returned was merely a reminder that life had to be lived to the very last breath, for no one knew what tomorrow would bring.

Sobered by the thought of how close she’d come today to being numbered amongst the lost, Kitty went to the bar and asked for a drink. There was no gin, only beer, but as it wasn’t the watered-down stuff served in civilian pubs, it was worth drinking.

Freddy and Roger saw her at the same time, and within minutes she was surrounded by them and their colleagues, and being good-naturedly teased about the mess she’d made of the Tiffy, and that she’d probably put those cows off giving milk for a week with her antics. There were jocular remarks about how women should stick to knitting and cooking and not try to compete in boys’ games, and Kitty tried to take it all in good part, but she was still feeling quite fragile after the crash and the jokes were beginning to wear a bit thin.

‘If I wasn’t wearing this skirt I’d challenge you to a game of pirates,’ she shouted above the noise to Freddy. ‘You know I always win.’

Freddy grinned and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Now there’s a challenge,’ he shouted back. ‘When are you due to leave Cliffe?’

‘Late tomorrow afternoon. Why?’

His smile broadened as he looked across at Roger. ‘Hear that, Roger? What do you reckon? Think she’s up to it?’

Roger’s eyes twinkled as he smoothed his moustache and studied Kitty from head to toe. ‘I think by the gleam in her eye she’s more than up to it, Freddy, old son. But I’d be careful if I were you – she might get the better of you in that one.’

Kitty looked from one to the other, noted their silly grins and burst out laughing. ‘Go on, then. What is it?’

‘There’s a motorcycle event tomorrow at the circuit just outside Cliffehaven,’ shouted Freddy. ‘Roger and I have got a twelve-hour pass, so we thought we’d put it to good use. I’ve got my Ariel NG, and Roger’s got his old Montgomery Greyhound. I’m sure he won’t mind you borrowing it for the morning.’

‘I say, old chap,’ protested Roger. ‘Kitty might be a competent rider, but that’s a classic bike. I’m not sure . . .’

‘I won’t prang it if that’s what you’re worried about, Roger,’ she hurried to assure him. ‘I learned how to ride bikes when I was still in junior school.’

Roger still didn’t look convinced, but was then distracted by the rather attractive little ATA pilot who’d been admiring him for the past half hour.

‘Don’t worry, Kitts,’ Freddy said with a knowing smile. ‘I’ll get you something to race on. That’s if you really are up to the challenge?’

She folded her arms and regarded him sternly. ‘When have you ever known me not to take up one of your challenges? What’s the prize?’

‘The glory of watching me win – yet again,’ he said with a wink.

‘In your dreams,’ she countered sweetly, and went to get another beer which she put on his mess bill.

Kitty was still feeling the effects of the crash, so after an hour she left Freddy and Roger to their raucous games and beer, grabbed a bite to eat in the canteen and then went to bed. There were five other girls staying overnight in the women’s accommodation block, but there was no sign of them when Kitty set her small travelling alarm clock and turned off the light, and she didn’t hear them come tiptoeing in much later.

When she woke at first light she felt refreshed and was looking forward to spending the day with Freddy and Roger, and to getting onto the back of a motorbike again. The other girls were fast asleep, so she quietly washed and dressed in her trousers and shirt, packed her bag and went in search of breakfast.

The canteen was packed and, to her amazement, Freddy and Roger were bright-eyed and full of themselves despite the amount of beer they’d consumed the night before and were already tucking into enormous plates of bacon and eggs. ‘Where did you manage to get food like that?’ she gasped in awe.

‘The RAF like to feed their pilots,’ said Freddy as he mopped up his egg with a slice of golden fried bread. ‘I’m sure we can spare a rasher or two for you, even if you did wipe out one of our Typhoons.’

Kitty went to the counter and returned with a loaded plate and a big mug of tea. Her mouth was watering and she tucked in, not saying a word until she’d wiped the plate clean with the last of the bread. As she pushed the plate away and reached for the mug of tea, she caught Freddy and Roger staring at her. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I still can’t believe that someone your size can eat that much food,’ Roger said with a hint of admiration.

‘Pranging Typhoons makes me hungry.’ She shot him a cheeky grin and drank her tea. ‘So, what bike have you managed to get me?’ she asked Freddy.

‘Roger rather set his heart on taking part in the races today, so I’ve managed to persuade one of our American pilots to lend you his 1000cc Ariel Square 4. He bust his leg a few weeks ago and is flying a desk at the moment, so he won’t be needing it.’

‘He does know you’ve borrowed it for me, doesn’t he?’ she asked suspiciously.

Freddy nodded. ‘It’s cost me a bottle of whisky and a carton of cigarettes, so you’d better not prang that too.’ His blue eyes sparkled as he grinned. ‘It’s a powerful bike for a skinny girl. Are you sure you can handle it?’

Kitty pushed back her chair. ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she said. ‘Lead me to it, Freddy.’

The motorbike was sheltered beneath a tarpaulin in the back of a hangar, and when she uncovered it she felt a great surge of excitement. It gleamed with chrome, the four cylinders in a square, the two crankshafts geared together, the tyres black and fat. But Freddy had been right in one aspect, she conceded silently as she struggled to wheel it outside, for it was a heavy bike and she’d have the devil’s own job of keeping it upright if she lost it on a corner. Not that she’d ever let him know, of course.

She swung her leg over the broad leather seat and had to use all her strength to keep the bike up and her other foot on the ground. Once she got going, she realised, she’d have to lean right across the smooth curve of the tank to be able to reach the low-slung handlebars.

Kitty listened as Freddy gave her a rundown on all the bike’s functions and explained about the four-speed gearbox, but the toe of her boot was all that was keeping her upright and her arms were beginning to tremble from the effort. Deciding she couldn’t lose face by toppling off the thing, she turned the key and kicked the starter.

The clatter of the powerful engine echoed all across the airfield, so she tweaked the throttle, took her foot off the ground and set off down the runway. It was smooth, powerful and very, very fast – and by the time she came back to the hangar, she knew she was glowing with pleasure.

‘I can see Roger and I are going to have to look to our laurels,’ said Freddy thoughtfully, ‘but I’m confident my Ariel NG can match the speed.’

Kitty put the kickstand in place and climbed off the Ariel Square, rather alarmed at how badly her arms were trembling from the effort of keeping the thing under control. ‘It’s not the speed that counts, Freddy,’ she teased. ‘It’s the skill of the rider.’ She chuckled at his po-faced look. ‘What time do these races start, and what do they cost?’

He looked at his watch. ‘In an hour, so we’d better leave in the next ten minutes. And they cost a couple of bob a race, all proceeds going to the Cliffehaven Spitfire Fund. It would be a good idea to bring your flying helmet and goggles,’ he advised. ‘It’s a dirt and cinder track, and after all the rain we’ve had lately it will be sticky.’

Kitty hurried off to fetch her flying kit and Sidcot suit. Getting mud all over her uniform would not be a good idea, as she wouldn’t have time to clean it before she had to catch the Anson taxi back to Hamble Pool.

The motorbike ride from Cliffe airfield to the track in the hills behind Cliffehaven was very pleasant in the clear early morning, and Kitty happily ambled along behind the men as she got used to the borrowed machine.

The racing circuit was already well attended, and there was an expectant buzz in the air as bunting flapped in the breeze and families settled on the grass with their picnic baskets and deckchairs. It was hard to believe there was a war on, and the atmosphere reminded Kitty of the country fairs she’d attended while staying with Charlotte during the half-term holidays and Easter breaks.