The Grafton Girls (16 page)

The papers were full of the news of the loss of the convoy. Two-thirds of the ships had been sunk: twenty-three merchant ships and one rescue ship out of the thirty-six merchant ships and three rescue ships that had sailed.

Some of those ships had sailed originally from Liverpool, and many of the seamen on board them had been from the city. The weight of that loss was apparent in the grim faces of the people stopping to buy their newspapers and read the headlines.

‘Bloody First Sea Lord – what the ’ell does he know now about the life of them wot sails under the Red Duster?’ Diane heard one man saying bitterly as she paid for her paper. ‘Ruddy nowt, that’s wot.’

A pall of bleak disbelief filled the corridors and offices of Derby House. Susan had been given leave of absence because her husband had now been officially reported as missing in action and Jean had taken over the team temporarily.

‘Captain said to remind you that you’re to stay on after your shift finishes today for this welcome party she and the C-in-C are giving for the new lot of Americans. Not that anyone is going to feel like smiling nicely at a load of green-as-grass young Americans after what we’ve all just been through.’

‘No,’ Diane agreed sombrely. ‘Do we know yet how many…?’

‘We know that four ships have made it to Archangel harbour,’ Jean told her grimly. ‘I don’t envy you having to attend this do tonight, I really don’t.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s already a lot of resentment at the fact that the last shift had to cope with a group of Americans down for tactical training who couldn’t stop talking about their Fourth of July celebrations and didn’t seem to understand why none of us feel like celebrating right now. I even heard one of them boasting that they’d been showing our RAF a thing or two by piloting British planes on a daylight raid on some Dutch German airfields.’

‘Yes, I saw that in the papers,’ Diane replied. ‘They lost two of the planes, and a third was damaged, so that hardly suggests they have a lot to boast about.’

Too late, Diane realised that her sharp words had been overheard, and by her personal
bête noire,
Major Saunders. She shrugged inwardly. What did it matter what the major thought of her?

‘I wonder if the Wrens’ favourite American pinup will be there tonight,’ Jean commented, giving
Diane a nudge and looking pointedly at the major’s broad back.

‘The Wrens’ what?’ Diane queried in disbelief.

‘They’re all mad for him,’ Jean assured her, ‘and I have to admit I can see why.’

‘Well, I can’t.’

‘It wouldn’t do you any good if you could,’ Jean said. ‘Word is that he’s married and that he’s let it be known that’s the way he intends to stay. So it’s definitely hands off that particular piece of US property.’ Jean pulled a wry face. ‘I don’t suppose we should blame him for feeling he has to make the point. The way some girls are acting around the Americans, it’s no wonder they think that we’re all cheap and easy. My fiancé is in radio ops up at Burtonwood where they’re stationed, and he says you wouldn’t believe the things some of the local girls are getting up to: standing at the roadside waiting for the GIs to drive past, calling out to them…,’ Jean shook her head. ‘You think they’d have more respect for themselves. I wouldn’t mind so much, but thanks to them we’re all getting tarred with the same brush. It makes me glad that I’m hooked up to a decent British chap.’

‘Yes,’ Diane agreed heavily.

‘I’m surprised you haven’t got someone, Diane,’ Jean ventured. ‘Not that I’m wanting to pry, of course,’ she added hastily.

‘It’s all right. There was someone,’ she admitted. ‘We…we were engaged, but…but it didn’t work out. He…he changed his mind…’ She didn’t know now what on earth had made her
speak so openly to Jean about something she would normally have kept a secret. Perhaps it had to do with the tragedy they had witnessed. What she did know, though, was that her grief for the men who had lost their lives weighed as heavily on her right now as her grief for her own loss. She gave Jean a bleak look, unaware that Jean wasn’t the only person who had heard what she had said.

‘I’d better go and get ready for the welcome party.’

‘Rather you than me.’ Jean shook her head.

Diane had brought a clean blouse with her, and she went to the ladies’ cloakroom to change into it and redo her hair, unpinning it from its chignon, then brushing it before pinning it up neatly again. She had no heart for the evening ahead, but it was not the fault of the young Americans. It was going to be her job to help make them feel at home, she reminded herself as she reapplied her lipstick and dabbed some of her precious Yardley’s toilet water on her wrists.

The welcome party was being held in the Commander-in-Chief Admiral Sir Percy Noble’s private quarters, and several other girls were already making their way there when Diane joined them.

‘What exactly are we supposed to do?’ Diane asked one of them.

‘The Group Captain just told me that she wants us to make the Americans feel more at home.’

‘They don’t need encouraging to do that,’ another girl informed her grimly. ‘If you ask me,
they’re making themselves far too much at home here as it is. I had to go to one of these dos last month, and I ended up pinned in a corner by a young airman who couldn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “no”, and kept on telling me how he was going to win the war for us. Bloody Yanks.’

Two Royal Navy men in full dress uniform were standing either side of the double doors leading into the Commander’s private office sitting room, whilst a senior Wren was waiting with a checklist to tick off the girls’ names.

‘Good,’ she said when everyone had been ticked off. ‘Now before our guests arrive, I’d just like to say a few words. You’ve all been put forward for this duty because you are considered to be the right sort of people for it. And make no mistake about it, making sure our American allies are made welcome is an important duty. But just as important is your duty to your uniform, and that duty commands you to remember that you may well become the standard by which these young men will judge your fellow countrywomen. Young American men behave in a manner which to us seems far freer and easier than we are used to from our own men. American men and women go on dates with one another from a young age, and are used to having friends of the opposite sex. It is easy sometimes for us to misunderstand this behaviour and to read into light-hearted comments something that is not meant. An American serviceman may pay you compliments and call you “sweetheart”,
but that is just his way. It does not mean that he is ready to call any marriage banns.’

Dutifully the listening young women laughed.

‘Unfortunately there are some young women in this country who have not properly understood the differences between American ways and our own, and because of that they have earned for themselves a rather bad reputation. Suffice it to say that here at Derby House we expect our young women to reflect only the very best kind of behaviour. You are here this evening to represent your service and your country.’

She gave them a brisk nod and then turned to the two naval ratings, instructing them to open the doors.

Diane took a deep breath and then, keeping her head up, followed the other girls into the room.

A group of senior officers was standing in the middle of the room, engrossed in discussion, the braid on their uniforms shining dully in the overhead light.

‘Lord, look at all that egg yoke,’ the girl next to Diane, who had introduced herself as Justine, murmured wryly, referring to the gold braid that denoted the seniority of the officers. ‘Not many Senior Service in evidence,’ she added. ‘Mind you, it’s hardly surprising in view of what’s been happening over the weekend. Plenty of RAF, though, and a good few American top brass as well.’

‘What are we supposed to do now?’ Diane asked uncertainly.

‘You’ll be allocated a naval rating to act as a waiter and then it will up to you to circulate, make sure all the invitees have a drink and someone to talk to. If you get stuck for something to say just ask them about their mum -much safer than asking if they have a girl,’ Justine advised.

Diane started to nod in response when her attention was caught by the familiar features of Major Saunders. Her heart sank.

Justine, seeing the direction in which she was looking, told her, ‘That’s Major Saunders with the Commander. He’s the main liaison officer for the Americans. Have you met him yet? If not, I’ll take you over and introduce you. You’ll see him around here quite a lot. He co-ordinates the groups of Americans coming from Burtonwood to see the way in which the Western Approaches Tactical Unit, works,’ she added.

‘No, no, it’s all right. I…I have met him,’ Diane stopped her quickly.

‘Good-looking chap,’ Justine commented. ‘Pity that he’s married.’

The doors were opening again, this time to admit the young Americans who had been invited to the party.

‘It looks like it’s the aircrew lot tonight,’ Justine told Diane. ‘Pity, I’m not really in the mood for American fly-boy bragging at the moment.’

‘Surely they don’t do that? Brag, I mean?’ Diane queried. ‘After all, if they’re only just arriving they won’t have flown any real missions yet.’

‘That doesn’t stop them,’ Justine assured her. ‘You wait and see.’

Diane was beginning to suspect that her companion wasn’t very keen on their American allies, but before she could say anything to her the other girl had turned away to speak with someone else.

‘Ah, Wilson, there you are, good.’ Diane turned when she heard Group Captain Barker addressing her, and then wished her superior had approached someone else when she saw that one of the uniformed men with her was the major.

‘Diane, by all that’s holy, it is you, isn’t it?’

Diane’s eyes widened in surprise as she focused on the familiar face of the man who had stepped out from behind the major.

‘Charles! Oh! I mean, Wing Commander,’ she managed to correct herself, her face burning.

Charles Seddon Gore, or ‘the Wing Co’, as Kit and the other flyers had called him, was a hugely popular character amongst the men, and Diane knew that Kit admired him tremendously. He had first seen action in the First World War as a seventeen-year-old, and had been shot down over the Channel during the Battle of Britain. The last Diane had heard of him was that he had been rescued but had been badly injured and his days of flying missions were over.

‘Oh, I say, you
are
a sight for sore eyes.’ He was beaming at Diane now. Turning to the men with him, he explained, ‘This young lady worked at the base in Cambridgeshire where I was stationed
before I had to bale out over the Channel. Probably glad to see the last of me, and quite right too. A flyer who has to ditch his plane and jump into the drink is a damned nuisance.’

‘We were all delighted when we heard that you’d been rescued, sir,’ Diane told him truthfully. ‘You were missed very much by all those who knew you.’

‘Mm. And that young man of yours – still flying, is he?’

Diane felt her heart do a steep dive. ‘So far as I know,’ she confirmed woodenly.

‘Must say that I’m surprised he’s let you come so far away from him. Would have thought he’d have had that wedding ring on your finger by now. I know I would in his shoes.’

This was awful. Diane kept the polite smile plastered on her face, desperate to avoid further talk of Kit.

‘So you were saying, Wing Commander, about the risks involved in daylight bombing raids on German cities…’

Five minutes ago she had been hating the fact that the major was here, but now she was more grateful to him than she could ever have imagined, even if his timely rescue of her was totally inadvertent.

‘What? Oh, yes. Risky business. Even with our new Lancasters.’

‘But, sir, the American Air Force has some new strategies and equipment, and with those and the surprise effect of daylight bombing raids…’ one
of the young American airmen burst out eagerly. ‘I mean, look at the success of the American raid on the German-held Dutch airfield over the weekend.’

‘Two planes lost and one damaged out of six.’ The wing commander looked grave. ‘Too much show and not enough result, if you ask me, Airman.’

Diane couldn’t help but feel sorry for the young American, who was now blushing. Sympathetically she moved closer to him when the wing commander turned away to talk to someone else, chatting lightly to him whilst he composed himself.

‘I guess I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?’ he admitted ruefully as the wing commander and the other top brass – including the major, much to Diane’s relief – moved away.

‘Daylight raids are a bit of a sore point for us.’ Diane explained. ‘We’ve lost a lot of good men that way.’

‘I guess you Brits aren’t too pleased about us coming here and trying to tell you how to run your war.’

‘You’re our allies, we need your help, and we are grateful to you for it,’ Diane answered him tactfully, changing the subject to ask him, ‘What part of America are you from?’

Fifteen minutes later she knew everything there was to know about Airman Eddie Baker Johnson the Third and his family. She had heard about his parents, especially his father, Eddie Senior, and his mom and his two sisters. She had heard too about
the small town in New England where the family lived, and the fact that Eddie had planned to follow his father into the family business before the war had come along. It hadn’t been hard for her to recognise Eddie’s homesickness and loneliness, and so she had let him pour out his heart to her whilst she listened, and in listening realised that she felt immeasurably older than this young man, who was, in reality, less than half a dozen years her junior. But then that was what war did to you.

‘I guess I’ll feel better once we start flying proper missions,’ Eddie confided. ‘Gee, I can’t wait.’

Diane could see and hear the dreams of heroism and glory in his eyes and voice and her heart felt heavy. He had still to learn what so many thousands of their own young men – and women -had had to, and that was that war brought devastation and death, ruined bodies and ruined lives; that it brought far more pain and fear than glory. It changed your life for ever. But she could not tell him any of this, she knew. It was something he would have to learn for himself. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help comparing him with the young men she had known in Cambridgeshire, young men with old eyes and searing memories. She grieved for them and she grieved for him too, and for the innocence he would surely lose.