The Spitfire Sisters Page 18

  ‘Oh well, you must do what you want. But do be careful, Edwin. You are eighty now.’

  ‘As everyone keeps reminding me,’ he murmured wryly.

  ‘Have you still not heard anything?’ Daisy asked Gill over the telephone.

  ‘No, but I’ve written again to Miss Gower and told her all about the flying lessons I’ve been having with a qualified instructor and that I’ve applied for my pilot’s licence and that I expect to get it any time soon. I also reminded her about you – that we applied together and want to join together, if that’s possible.’

  Two days after this conversation, they both received letters inviting them to a flying test. They travelled to Hatfield Airfield together. They had both dressed conservatively, but smartly. They wanted to give the impression of being capable and committed. The first pilots in the women’s branch of the ATA had been subject to some scepticism and even derision in the press. Even Lord Haw-Haw had made derogatory remarks about the women pilots of the ATA in his Nazi propaganda broadcasts. Daisy and Gill knew they had to be on their best behaviour – at least for now.

  ‘Wow,’ Gill muttered as they passed the security gates and looked around them. The airfield was alive with aeroplanes taking off and landing, with ground staff and engineers busy everywhere. They found the ATA offices in a small wooden hut behind the de Havilland aircraft factory and reported to the adjutant on duty. She gave them instructions and soon they were walking towards a Tiger Moth.

  ‘Good old Lord Bunny. At least I know what I’m doing with this aircraft.’

  ‘Me too.’ Daisy grinned. ‘Thanks to Uncle Mitch and Jeff. I’ve had a flight in the one Uncle Mitch has at Brooklands.’

  ‘Our trouble is going to be that we haven’t much experience on anything else.’

  ‘I expect there’ll still be some sort of ATA training if we get in. The woman Paul introduced me to said as much. Come on, let’s go and find whoever’s testing us and see which of us is going up first.’

  The pilot testing them was probably in his early forties. He was tall and thin and smiled very little. But Daisy was not one to judge. In these difficult times, no one knew what unhappiness another person was coping with.

  She climbed into the cockpit and prepared herself.

  ‘Three circuits and landings,’ the pilot said curtly through the speaking tube. How different he was from the calm, encouraging tones of Jeff Pointer, but Daisy straightened her shoulders, carried out all the checks she needed to do and took off smoothly. Once in the air, however, the aircraft swung from left to right and Daisy fought to bring it under control. Her first landing was bumpy – not at all what she had hoped to achieve. Her second and third take-offs and landings were better, though not as perfect as she would have liked. She just hoped they were good enough.

  Gill went next and Daisy watched her from the ground. Her flights seemed to go much better.

  As they walked back to the office, Daisy moaned, ‘I made a right pig’s ear of it. I don’t think they’ll pass me.’

  ‘You’ve got more flying hours than me. That’s my worry.’

  They each had an interview with the Commander, though it was more like a friendly chat.

  ‘We are developing our own training programme,’ she told them. ‘You start by ferrying light, single-engine aeroplanes. You will then be given further training and testing so that you can advance to other “classes” of more powerful aircraft at your own pace and on your own merits rather than by any set time. Once you are qualified to fly a particular “class”, you are then given detailed ferry-pilot notes to enable you to fly similar aircraft within that class, but which you may not actually have flown before.’

  Daisy nodded enthusiastically, but could hardly contain her excitement. ‘How long will it take to graduate to flying Spitfires?’

  The Commander smiled indulgently. ‘Sadly, at present, women are not permitted to fly combat aircraft. But never fear, Miss Maitland, we are working on that.’

  They returned home to wait for an agonizing week until they were told that they had both passed the test. They were to be issued with passes and told to be fitted for a uniform. They were to report back to Hatfield in the middle of June.

  ‘Aunty Milly wants to take us both to her Savile Row tailor to be fitted properly for a uniform. Her treat,’ Daisy told Gill over the telephone. She giggled. ‘She’s heard some horrific tales of the girls not being fitted properly because the tailors are men and too embarrassed to measure them properly!’

  ‘Oh, but I can’t let Mrs Whittaker pay for my uniform.’

  ‘Yes, you can. She says it’s a gift to us both. We’re to go as soon as we can and stay with her until they’re made, which should be just in time for us to report back to Hatfield on the date we’ve been given. Oh, do say yes, Gill. We’ve got a war to win.’

  Twenty-Eight

  By the end of May, the news was even worse. British troops were surrounded by German forces, pushed back against the French coast after having fought valiantly to save towns like Calais and Boulogne. They were overwhelmed. Trapped by the advancing enemy around Dunkirk, the British army faced annihilation or capture. There was nowhere left to retreat except into the sea.

  ‘They say in the papers that you can see the bombing and fires from our south coast,’ Robert told the family.

  ‘How are they going to rescue our boys?’ Henrietta asked, but Robert could only shake his head sadly. He had no answer.

  Flying over the beaches in an attempt to keep the Stukas at bay, Luke saw for himself the hordes of allied soldiers hiding in the sand dunes or just lying on the beaches as if they were resigned to their fate. But he also saw, a little further inland, fierce resistance from the British and their comrades, still trying to cover the retreat. To his horror, he saw lines of refugees amongst the fleeing soldiers being mown down by the enemy. No one was being spared – not even children. Time and again, he returned to England to refuel and go back. He had to do whatever he could to fight off the foe in the air. And then he saw it. Far below him, ploughing their way through the choppy seas, were dozens of ships and boats of all sizes – a veritable armada – crossing the Channel from Sheerness to Dunkirk. Able to get closer to the shore, they could pick up the soldiers and ferry them to the bigger ships waiting offshore. Pointing the nose of his Spitfire skywards, he went to work, seeking and finding enemy aircraft heading towards the beaches, trying to cut them off before they arrived. He could do nothing to help those below except to stop as many aircraft as he could from dive-bombing and shooting at the soldiers as they waded out into the water towards the first boats to arrive.

  Operation Dynamo went on for several days. It had been hoped to rescue about forty-five thousand men, but by the end of the mission, a remarkable figure of over three hundred and thirty thousand men of the British Expeditionary Force, French and Belgian troops had been rescued. The British soldiers who had remained behind to hold back the enemy for as long as possible were taken prisoner, but they had fought bravely and with great sacrifice to help save their fellow soldiers. Even army doctors drew lots to see who should stay behind to tend the wounded. They, too, were likely to be taken prisoner.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Luke said as he discussed the events with his fellow airmen. ‘If ever a potential tragedy was turned into a triumph, then that was it and we got to see it for ourselves.’

  France fought on but on 10 June, Mussolini declared war on the Allies and four days later, German troops marched up the Champs-Élysées as Nazi swastikas flew from the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. Hitler danced with glee. Paris had fallen and thousands of refugees left the city heading south, only to be dive-bombed by enemy aircraft yet again. In an act of bitter revenge, Hitler sought the capitulation of France and demanded that they sign the surrender in the same train coach that had been used for the German surrender in 1918. By the end of the month, half of France was under occupation and on 1 July, Germany invaded the Channel Islands.


  ‘That’s the closest he’s going to get,’ Luke and his fellow pilots declared.

  One of the most heartbreaking decisions the British Prime Minister would have to make – and there were to be many more – was the sinking of the French fleet on 3 July to prevent it falling into German hands. Marshal Pétain, the leader of Vichy France, broke ties with Britain because of this action and a few days later declared that France was a Fascist state.

  ‘Father, have you seen this?’ Robert asked, when they met at breakfast. ‘German troops have landed on the Channel Islands – without opposition.’

  Edwin stared at him for a moment. ‘Now that surprises me. That it’s without opposition, I mean.’

  ‘It says here that they were thought too difficult to defend, but a lot of the residents have already been brought to the mainland together with livestock and crops.’ Robert allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Trying to make it as difficult for the invaders as possible, I expect.’

  ‘Good,’ Edwin said with asperity. ‘Though I expect there’ll be a lot who’ve had to stay.’

  ‘Yes, let’s hope it’s not too bad for those left behind. But it brings our enemy a little bit too close for my liking.’

  ‘Tiger Moths? Is that all we’re going to be flying?’ Daisy said in disgust. ‘But I want to fly Spitfires.’

  They had been at Hatfield for two weeks, sharing a room in a house only walking distance from the airfield. During that time all they’d been allowed to fly were Tiger Moths to different parts of the country. Daisy had even flown the open-cockpit aeroplane to Scotland on a rainy June day with three other pilots. She’d been numb with cold when they’d landed and the journey south hadn’t been much better on a draughty, overcrowded train.

  ‘And why do we have to fly with two or three others? Why can’t we go on our own?’

  ‘We have to fly within sight of the ground,’ Gill reminded her calmly. ‘Keep to our special routes to avoid barrage balloons, and so that we’re easily identified as friendly aircraft by the ground defence. On our own, they might start taking potshots at us, if they think we’re an enemy spy.’

  ‘In a Tiger Moth?’ Daisy said scathingly.

  ‘It’s probably exactly what they would use.’ Gill laughed at her and then added, ‘Cheer up, Daisy. I’ve got a bit of good news. It’s been agreed that some of us are going to be sent to the Central Flying School at Upavon to fly single-engine trainers’ – she paused for effect – ‘used by the RAF to teach their pilots to fly fighter aeroplanes.’

  Daisy stared at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that will take us nearer to being able to fly other aircraft.’

  ‘Spitfires?’ Daisy’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Not immediately, but maybe one day. Daisy, you just have to realize that we’ve got to prove ourselves – doubly so, because we’re women. Come on, we’ve got to go and pick up our chits for today’s deliveries from the office. Let’s toe the line and do everything we’re asked to do and maybe – just maybe – we’ll be amongst the first ones to be sent to Upavon.’

  ‘Oh Mrs Maitland – do come in.’ Norah held her back door wide open. ‘Have you heard about the Channel Islands? He’s getting a bit close for our liking, but Sam says we shouldn’t worry ’cos Luke and the other RAF lads will keep him at bay. Have you come on WVS business?’ Norah was quite chatty these days. She had found confidence through mixing with the other women in the village and she was no longer quite so in awe of Henrietta.

  ‘Not really. I just came to see how you are, Mrs Dawson, and how you feel about Daisy having joined the ATA. She is your granddaughter as well as ours.’

  ‘Come through. Bess, Peggy and Clara are here for a bit of a natter. We’re just having a cuppa. Would you like one?’

  ‘I would love a cup of tea. I’ve been traipsing around the village checking on all the evacuees. It’s quite tiring, I must admit.’ She smiled at Norah. The village women had become closer through their war work and whilst they were still respectful of Henrietta’s position in their community, they all now looked upon her as a friend as well as someone they had always known they could turn to in times of trouble and, in these very turbulent times, they needed her to take the lead.

  Having greeted the other women, Henrietta sat down and accepted the cup of tea gratefully. Each woman there was busily knitting as they chatted, their needles never slowing.

  ‘We’ve been thinking of ways we could raise some money for a Spitfire fund,’ Clara said. ‘I’ve been reading about it in the papers. What with the cost of the last war and then the Depression, our government’s coffers aren’t exactly overflowing, so ordinary folks all over the country are starting to collect money to help build more Spitfires. And we can do our bit too. I’ve suggested having a jumble sale at the church. We could involve the other villages. Skellingthorpe, for one. Maybe even Nettleham and Saxilby. What do you think, Mrs Maitland?’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea, Mrs Nuttall. May I leave you to organize that and if you need Jake to collect from other places, you only have to ask?’

  Clara beamed with importance.

  ‘And how is Daisy?’ Norah asked. ‘She came to say “goodbye” to us all, but she wasn’t able to tell us much about what she’ll be doing. I expect she didn’t really know herself then.’

  ‘Enjoying every minute of her new life, apparently. She telephones about once a week. She’s still training, of course, but as both she and Gill already had a pilot’s licence, I don’t expect it will be long before they’re ferrying aircraft around the country.’

  ‘Is that what she’ll be doing?’ Bess asked.

  Henrietta nodded. ‘Collecting them from the factories and taking them to wherever they’re needed. I believe they also sometimes have to fly aircraft that need overhauling or repairing.’ Henrietta now glanced at Peggy. ‘Have you heard from Luke recently? He hasn’t been home on leave for ages.’

  Peggy shook her head. ‘Luke’s not much of a letter writer and Harry’s even worse.’

  Henrietta sighed. ‘I gathered as much. Poor Kitty is often in tears.’

  ‘She comes to see me most days on the way home from the farm,’ Peggy said. ‘Just to see if there’s any news.’

  ‘She’s a nice girl.’

  ‘She is,’ Peggy said. ‘But you know what Harry is. He’s not serious about any girl at the moment.’

  ‘How’s Bernard settling in with you?’

  Peggy smiled. ‘Wonderfully – though I don’t see much of him. When he’s not at school, he’s at the workshop. Sam says he’s already a good little worker for his age and he talks about nothing else when he’s at home with us.’ Peggy laughed. ‘Poor Sam. I think he’d like to forget about work for a bit, but the lad’s that keen to learn.’

  ‘Years ago, when the school-leaving age was twelve, he would already be a working man,’ Henrietta reminded them.

  ‘What’ll happen when Luke and Harry come back?’ Clara asked, no doubt thinking of the future for both her son, Sam, and her grandson, Harry.

  ‘By the time they come home, Clara, duck,’ Bess said, ‘war’ll be over and all the evacuees’ll go home.’

  A silence hung over the room but no one wanted to be the one to voice what was in all of their minds. If Luke and Harry come back.

  Twenty-Nine

  A few days later, Luke came home on a seventy-two-hour leave, but there was no sign of Harry.

  ‘D’you know what he’s doing, Luke?’ Sam asked. ‘Because we never hear a word from him.’

  ‘He’s training to fly bombers, as far as I know.’

  ‘Do you know where he is at the moment?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘No, but I’ll try and find out for you, if I can.’ He paused and then said, ‘I’m being posted to the south coast. That’s why I’ve got leave to come home. It – it might be a while before I see you again.’

  He watched his parents as they glanced at each other and then looked back at him. ‘You’re not daft, either of you, so I’m not
going to hide anything from you. You went through the last war, so you know better than us young ones just what war is all about and I think we’re about to find out for ourselves. As you know, Italy declared war on the Allies in the middle of June and, a week later, Churchill announced that Britain fights on alone. It’s thought – and I suppose I’m asking you not to discuss this with anyone else – that Germany intends the Luftwaffe to get control of the skies as a prelude to invading England.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So, if that is the case, there’s only the RAF to stop them.’

  Peggy gulped and covered her mouth with trembling fingers. She tried to stop her tears from flowing, but couldn’t. Luke crossed the space between them and put his arms around her. ‘You’d rather I was honest with you, wouldn’t you?’

  She nodded against his shoulder, but could not speak.

  ‘I’m flying a Spitfire – the best little fighter aeroplane there is. I’m sure Daisy and her mates will soon be bringing them to us as they’re made – though they’re not allowed to fly Hurricanes and Spitfires yet. And all that’s thanks to the collecting that the civilian population is doing. And then there’s Harry waiting with his bomber. How can we possibly fail, Mam, with the Doddington gang out in force?’

  Peggy tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob.

  Sam gripped Luke’s shoulder and said huskily, ‘I’ll look after her, Luke. You just take care of yourself. That’s all we ask.’

  Flying at the designated height above the ground, Daisy had no such worries. Her days were filled with delivering aircraft safely to their destination. Secretly, she was rather enjoying her war, but she would not have uttered such a thing to another soul, even though she was still flying the draughty Tiger Moths to wherever they were needed. But in a week or so’s time, she and Gill were to go to Upavon for further training. Maybe then . . .