Churchill's Angels Part 17

The civilian Very Important Person, addressed as 'Doctor', was the man she had known all her life as Mr Fischer.

ELEVEN.

Adair and his pa.s.senger had taken off long before Daisy rose on New Year's morning. She had pulled on gym clothes and run over to the aircraft hangar, with the excuse that she needed to clear her head, but the very bleary-eyed technician on duty had denied that there had ever been a Tiger Moth on the airfield. Obviously then, he had not been on duty on New Year's Eve.

'Mind you, I did hear that some pilot took a girl up yesterday and they might have said it was a Tiger Moth don't really remember too much about yesterday.' He looked carefully at Daisy. 'Was it you? Did a female actually fly a plane? G.o.d, what is the world coming to?'

'Me? I only came over to see the plane. They must have left early.'

'Wouldn't know.'

'Thanks,' said Daisy, and started to run.

His voice followed her. 'They? Who's they?'

But Daisy was soon out of earshot.

Back at the billet she made a pot of tea. Many of her roommates, including Charlie and the unpleasant Felicity, were asleep, and Daisy had no real wish to go over for breakfast by herself. Edith, the saxophonist, had been violently ill during the night 'intolerance to alcohol', Charlie had decided but she was now awake and very thirsty.

Daisy held a large mug of hot sweet tea to her lips.

'Don't fret, Edith. It's not the end of the world.'

But, with a groan of abject misery, Edith slid down under her blankets.

'Just as well she's not on duty.' Charlie, looking remarkably bright, had just emerged. 'Good grief, Daisy, did you go to bed at all?'

'Of course, and been out for a run.'

'Adair gone?'

Daisy hesitated. She certainly did not want to lie but neither did she want to talk, even to Charlie.

'Don't worry, not another word. Give me five minutes and we can have breakfast, unless you've been over.'

'Not hungry.'

'Love does that, or so they tell me. I'm ravenous and will even try that revolting-looking porridge.'

The dining hall was almost empty. Those on duty had eaten early and left, and it looked as if those not on duty had elected to spend the morning in bed. Daisy had been pleased to a.s.sure her parents that food in the services was not only plentiful but also tasty. She made a pretence of eating toast while Charlie demolished a tray of hot food, including the rather lumpy porridge.

'Delish. You should try it, Daisy, so good for you.'

'I believe you. I think I'll write letters today. Goodness knows when we'll have another chance.' She wondered whether she should say anything to Charlie about seeing Mr Fischer if it was he. Surely she could not really judge, having caught only the merest glimpse in poor light. If Adair's pa.s.senger had been her old friend then he was not only safe but also rather important. 'Another cuppa, Charlie?'

Charlie, with her mouth full, nodded and handed over her cup. Daisy walked over to get refills.

'Did you actually fly that plane yesterday?' A uniformed sergeant was standing beside her.

'With an experienced pilot, yes, Sergeant.'

'Can't you join me for a moment? It's just so amazing. Flying is something I've dreamed of for years. My brother's a pilot; Bomber Command.'

Daisy looked round to where Charlie was sitting. 'I have-' she began.

'Sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted your free time. Please rejoin your friend but first tell me does one really feel like a bird?'

Daisy smiled. 'I did the first time I was taken up, but yesterday I was just so anxious to get it right that I don't remember thinking anything.'

The sergeant stood up and held out her hand. 'Claire Johnstone,' she said. 'Thank you, and carry on for all of us, my dear. I wish you a very happy year.'

'You too,' said Daisy.

'She wished me a very happy year, Charlie, and I said, "You too." Is that wrong?'

'Not in this particular situation. Usually one merely repeats the greeting. Don't worry about small things so much. The sergeant seems nice.'

'I think she is. Her brother's a pilot, bombers, but I think she'd love to fly too.'

'Bombers? Perhaps you'll run into him, Daisy. You'll probably be posted soon to a field with bombers.'

Of course. The induction course would soon be over. They would all be sent home on leave and Daisy would have to say goodbye to Charlie. Perhaps they would keep in touch. That would be nice, but Daisy remembered very well swearing undying friends.h.i.+p with her old school friends and was aware that none of them had replied to the Christmas letters she had put in the envelope with the Christmas cards. She had not expected a letter from Grace but decided that she would write to her first, even before she wrote home.

Dear Grace, I hope this reaches you as in the letter you wrote you said you might be going to another farm. Since that letter there has been Megan's death and I am sorry since she was your sister. I have a friend here whose name is Charlotte but we call her Charlie and her people have a telephone. She talks to them when she can as there is a public box here. The only people I know with a telephone are the Humbles at the farm. It must be nice to be able to talk to people on a telephone. That's all rubbish but it would be special to talk to you on the telephone and say I hope and pray that you are fine and that you had a nice Christmas. I know the Brewers would want you to be with them, and my mum and dad would too. If you get this please reply and don't forget me as I will never forget you.

Your old friend, Daisy Her letter to her parents was, if anything more difficult. The events that were burning in her brain, her flying lesson with Adair, possibly catching a glimpse of Mr Fischer, and Adair's New Year's Eve kiss could not be mentioned.

She avoided contentious issues by telling them as much as she felt she could about the New Year's Eve dance. She wrote about Charlie and Edith and their musical abilities. She told them she had danced almost every dance omitting the fact that her partner had almost always been the same man. She even admitted to having enjoyed a gla.s.s of real champagne and told them that experiencing bubbles going up her nose had been interesting. She described how Charlie's silver chain had brightened up her party outfit.

It was real silver, would you believe? Charlie's dad brought it from Mexico. I think we saw a cowboy film about Mexico, once, maybe with Roy Rogers. A fine scarf would do just as well, Mum. Would you keep an eye out in the market?

Please write as soon as you get this and tell me about Grace and what's happening to her. I did get a Christmas card but it was sent before the bombing and I'm worried. We're being posted soon. Any letter that comes here will get sent on.

She finished by a.s.suring them that the food was still plentiful and very good, but not up to Mum's standards, which she actually thought was not really true but she could not hurt her mother's feelings. She told them that her marks and reports so far had been good and asked if there had been Christmas messages from her brothers.

She did not tell them that by working hard she felt she was continuing to keep her promise to the small boy who had died on Dartford Heath.

A week later Daisy wrote announcing her arrival home on Sat.u.r.day 15 March for fourteen days' leave.

'Two whole weeks, Charlie, of not having to worry about doing something stupid.'

'What are you planning?'

'Not a thing, apart from buying a few new clothes and going to bed on the same day as when I got up.'

'Good grief, Daisy. The WAAF is giving you fourteen days to devote to riotous living. That means that if one wakes up on a Tuesday one has to be sure not to tumble into one's little bed until well into Wednesday morning. Anything else is terribly elderly.'

'Not in my house. What have you planned?'

'Oh, this and that. Stay with Mummy in the country for a few days and then I'll escape to London with my father. He's a big Agatha Christie fan and will be sure to get tickets for one of her plays. There always seems to be at least one on somewhere in town.' She stopped talking for a moment and a broad smile crossed her pretty face. 'In fact, Daisy, Dartford's no distance from London. You must come with us. I know Daddy would love to meet you.'

Daisy blushed furiously with embarra.s.sment. She would love to go to a London theatre but how could she possibly go with someone like Charlotte, or her father, who asked 'questions in the House'?

Charlie smiled at her. 'You don't have to say anything now. I'll talk to Daddy and see what he can get. Oh, it would be lovely. We do deserve a treat after all we've been through. The theatre, supper at the Savoy and then you could bunk in with me at the flat and tootle back to Dartford next morning. See, you wouldn't be deserting your family.'

'You're very kind, Charlie, but-' began Daisy.

'No buts, and I'm not being kind. I'm being very selfish. But just in case it doesn't work out there is a war on, you know let's exchange addresses. Remember, you did promise to be a chum.'

Charlie's address was easily recognisable as a rather grand one and Daisy wondered what she would make of Petrie's Groceries and Fine Teas, High Street, Dartford, but Charlie said nothing and merely put the slip of paper in her purse. Two days later they parted at the station. Daisy was taking the train to London and Charlie was being picked up.

'They're sending a car for me, Daisy. I'd take you but we're going in the opposite direction.'

Truth to tell, Daisy was quite happy to be alone, away from all the noise and bustle of the camp. She would have liked to walk around on her own to say a fond farewell. After all, it would always remain a special memory. There she had tasted her first champagne, she had flown a Tiger Moth ... and she had been kissed.

Why, she wondered as she sat in the station waiting room, had the kiss been so memorable? It was not her first kiss; several of her brothers' friends had kissed her, but almost as if they felt they were expected to, when they had brought her home from the pictures or a social or dance in the church hall. None had been memorable, except perhaps the first one, which had disgusted her more than anything, as she had been aware first of noses b.u.mping and then oh gross a tongue trying to force itself into her mouth.

But the kiss from Adair ... at first so gentle, a mere brus.h.i.+ng of her lips with his. Had she closed her eyes? She could not remember but she did remember looking into his eyes and reading something there. With the second kiss, she blushed now remembering, she had been filled with an most overwhelming feeling of desire, but desire for what?

He had gone and the man who might or might not be Mr Fischer had gone with him. A new life was starting. She was going to an airbase in Wilts.h.i.+re where, at long last, she would be working on aircraft engines, actually doing something to help Britain win this war.

What was it that Mr Churchill said? Something about everyone working together? That's it, decided Daisy as the already heavily overcrowded train pulled in to pick up more pa.s.sengers. We will win the war if we work together.

It was wonderful to be home. Daisy had been pressed to the window of the carriage since leaving London, so anxious had she been to see Dartford Station. She wondered who would be there to meet her. It never occurred to her that no one would be there. And so it proved. She looked, face as close to the gla.s.s as she could get. Dad? Mum? Rose?

She squealed with pleasure as she almost fell out of the train into the arms of her brother Phil. For a long moment neither said a word as they hugged and Daisy fought back tears.

'Just in time, our Daze,' he said. 'I'm off to Portsmouth first thing. Dad's in the shop since Mum's killed at least three fatted calves and is cooking enough to feed the entire British fleet. Give us your bags. The van's in the car park.'

How many months was it since she had seen or heard from her brother? Daisy took refuge in anger. 'I haven't heard a word from you, Philip Petrie, not even when Ron ...'

'I'm not good at the writing, Daisy.'

He looked and sounded so disconsolate that she laughed. 'I had our mum convinced that a seagull had to fly over and pick up letters, Phil.'

'You look ... different, Daisy. Beautiful. That's a word I never thought I'd use about my own sister.'

'You're daft, you are. How's our Rose? She never answers my letters either.'

'Too tired, love, and maybe too fed up. She wants to join up, the ATS, but Mum's ... I don't know the words, Daisy ... but Sam in a POW camp, Ron dead, you and me away ... Forget all that. Are you doing well?'

'I think I'm doing all right, Phil, met some nice people-'

He interrupted her. 'Heard you had a flying lesson. Did you really? Did you really go up in one of them little crates?'

'I did. More than once. It's freedom and s.p.a.ce you can't imagine, Phil. I love it.'

'Not so much s.p.a.ce when the b.l.o.o.d.y sky's full of d.a.m.ned Messerschmitts. They're better planes than ours. They can't manoeuvre like our pilots, real circus performers they are, but Jerry's got the shooting A1.'

'You shouldn't say things like that.'

'The truth's the truth and I'm only talking to you. Now you're a WAAF you'll find out things for yourself.'

They had reached the van and Phil threw her kitbag in the back while she settled herself in the pa.s.senger seat. It was difficult driving in the blackout but for once a pale moon gave some light, and in no time they were home.

Daisy, who had never before been away from home, found her parents very changed, and they, like Phil, said that she too was different. Flora, who had lost a great deal of weight, had tried to prepare family favourites, among them apple fritters.

'We still seem able to get apples, Daisy; and Nancy Humble has some lovely Bramleys in one of the attics.'

The celebration went on for some time. Would they ever enjoy an evening as a family without the fear that in a moment a siren would blast the peace of the night? They tried to be as normal as possible as they caught up with everyone's news. Grace was back on her Scottish farm but had promised to return to Dartford whenever she had leave. Elsie and Ernie Brewer, as well as Flora and Fred, had a.s.sured Grace that she would always have a home with them. Daisy was brought up to date with news of as many of her old friends as possible but no one mentioned Mr Fischer. The old man who had been almost a fixture in the shop seemed to be quite forgotten.

Again she wondered was he dead or was he alive? Had he indeed been the tall, slender figure she had glimpsed so briefly?

'Any news of Mr Fischer?'

'Funny you should ask, love. Mrs Porter, all excited, brought over a Christmas card. Lovely picture of a manger scene on the front and a ten-s.h.i.+lling note inside. From the National Gallery in London, no less, and it was signed, we think, Fischer. Terrible writing for a clever man but he said, "All well". Isn't that good? She were that happy.'

'That's lovely,' said Daisy, but decided to say nothing else. If Mr Fischer had sent a card, bought probably in London, to his former landlady stating that all was well, then it did indeed look as if Adair's VIP pa.s.senger addressed as 'Doctor' was their Mr Fischer.

He'll tell us if he can when he can, she decided, and so she changed the conversation by asking Phil what he could tell her about his time in the Royal Navy.

A very gloomy-looking Bernie brought the post a few days later.

Daisy was tidying the refuge room but she came out when she heard the shop doorbell. 'Any letters for me, Bernie?'

'Happy New Year, Daisy,' said Bernie, handing over two letters. 'I hope they're happy letters I've delivered too many of them d.a.m.n brown ones this week.'

'These are happy letters, Bernie. One's from another WAAF and the other's from Grace do you remember Grace?'

'Megan Paterson's sister. What a tragedy that was. Tell her good luck from me, Daisy.'

'I will.' Daisy waited until the postman had gone. Was it possible that people could change so much in a few weeks? Like Flora, Bernie seemed older and greyer somehow.

'Has Bernie a family, Dad?'

''Course he has. His old dad lives with him and then he has a wife and two lads. Too young for the Forces,' he answered Daisy's next question before she had asked it.

'I'll sit on the stairs to read these. The refuge room's airless somehow.'

'Well, of course it is, pet. It's got no windows open the door if you're working in there.'