The Forget-Me-Not Summer (40 page)

‘Pete's real fond of you, Avril,' Miranda said gently. ‘But I guess you know that.'

‘As you are so fond of saying, he's just a pal,' Avril said wearily, pushing a wing of blonde hair off her forehead.

They joined the queue of dazed and dirty people at the WVS van and after some thought Miranda said that she would join the WAAF as well. ‘I'm sure Mr Grimshaw will understand. And he'll still have Miss Burton and Miss Phyllis.' She gave a rather wan chuckle. ‘It will solve the dilemma of what to wear now that we haven't even got a pair of knickers or a hair ribbon left. The WAAF will kit us out, feed us, find us beds and train us for whatever work needs our skills . . .' She reached the head of the queue in mid-sentence. ‘Oh, can we have four mugs of tea and four sandwiches or buns or whatever, please?'

Presently the four of them, still chewing, jumped on a bus. The children were understandably excited as the vehicle upon which they were travelling reached familiar territory. Maisie, with her nose pressed to the window, was the first to shout ‘Our stop's comin' up!' and but for Avril's staying hand would have bailed out before the vehicle had actually come to a halt. Dickie told his sister sternly to behave herself, but Avril saw how his eyes sparkled and guessed he was quite as excited as Maisie, just, being older, more capable of restraint.

Once on the pavement she took Maisie's hand and
Miranda took Dickie's and they followed the children's instructions through a maze of small side streets until they reached Quarry Lane where they were towed impatiently up to the front door of Number Six. Avril looked for a bell, but seeing none would have used her knuckles on the wooden panel, only Dickie bade her follow him, and went down the side of the small house. Before he could knock on the back door it shot open and a weary-looking woman with tear stains on her cheeks stumbled across the tiny cobbled yard and grabbed both children in a comprehensive embrace before turning to the two older girls.

‘Oh, thank you, ladies,' she gasped. ‘I had a visit from the scuffers this mornin', said the kids had run off yesterday, though their foster mother swore she'd been kindness itself, and said they was ungrateful and wicked, which, as I told the scuffers, weren't anywhere near the truth.' She lifted Maisie up and lodged her on one hip, then held out a hand to Dickie. ‘Come along, big feller; I'll make a brew of tea and your new pals can tell me what's been happenin'. The scuffers was worried in case you'd reached Liverpool 'cos of the big raid last night, but I thought you'd likely found yourselves an air raid shelter or a garden shed and kipped down in it long before the Jerries had even begun to come over.'

The two girls followed her and the children into the house, but Avril, taking the lead for once, said that though they would be glad of a cup of tea they knew very little more than she about the children's reason for running away. ‘They told me that their foster mother didn't feed them properly, and I gather she was pretty quick-tempered; not the type of person to look after children
at all. But I expect you'll get more out of them than we had a chance to do. Only they were in Liverpool at the height of the raid and knocked on our door . . .'

She told the whole story clearly and precisely, as far as she knew it, but glossed over what had happened to Gary and the dog. Remembering her own childhood, she knew how easily Dickie might talk himself into believing that it was his fault, because had he not knocked on the basement door both Gary and Timmy might be alive today. If the dog had not scooted past them up the stairs Avril knew, ruefully, that Gary would never have left the security of the basement.

But it did not do to think like that; what's done is done, she told herself, and nothing in this world was certain, except that death comes to us all in the end. In such dangerous times she and Miranda would not be any safer than the citizens of Liverpool wherever the air force might choose to send them. Folk who stayed behind in the city, or trekked into the country when the moon rode high in the clear sky, were all at risk. And war, she told herself, was the biggest uncertainty of all.

Mrs O'Halloran proved to be a delightful person. Barely five foot in height she was correspondingly skinny, with greying hair pulled back from a tiny, bright-eyed face, and an endless fund of stories about her children. She insisted that her guests should take a freshly baked scone with the cup of tea she had already set before them, exclaimed with horror when Avril told her that their flat had had its roof blown off, and actually offered her sofa, if the girls were desperate, though the little house only had two small bedrooms, one for herself and Mr O'Halloran, and the other, little more than a box room, for Dickie and Maisie.
‘And what I'll do when they's older, and it wouldn't be right for 'em to share, is more than I can say,' she admitted. ‘We stays here because the rent's cheap and it's near my husband's work, but one of these days I'd like to move into the country. The only good thing about that Mrs Grimble was the village she lived in: plenty of space for kids, a nice little school with only thirty or forty pupils, and even a stream at the end of her garden where the kids could paddle or try to catch tiddlers . . .'

Avril and Miranda exchanged glances; outside it was still freezing cold, not at all paddling weather, but of course the children might have been there for some time, though they doubted it, and Dickie confirmed their doubts. ‘At first we was at a lovely place, real nice, with a fat jolly farmer's wife, and a granfer what smoked a pipe and told us wizard stories about that other war, what he called the Great War. Only Auntie Ethel – that's what we called the farmer's wife – got appendic . . . appendiss . . . two months ago and couldn't keep us no longer.' He sighed heavily. ‘We wanted to go and live wi' the baker's wife – she offered to have us – but Mam said . . .'

Mrs O'Halloran cut across the sentence. ‘They was in Devon, what's a devil of a way off. I only visited 'em once and it took a whole day to get there and a whole day to get back, besides costing a small fortune,' she explained. ‘Oh, dear, it's all my fault. I said I wanted 'em closer, so's I could visit mebbe once a month, and the authorities found Mrs Grimble what had no evacuees and sent 'em there. Oh, if only I hadn't interfered, they'd be in that little village in Devonshire, happy as Larry, and writin' regular, which they never did from Mrs
Grimble's, which should've made me wonder . . . oh, what a fool you are, Suzie O'Halloran.'

Both girls assured her that she could not have known how unsuitable Mrs Grimble was, and then, catching each other's eye once more, they rose to their feet, thanked their hostess for her hospitality, kissed the children and made them promise to become evacuees once more, for though this second experience had been horrid their mother would make sure that they went somewhere pleasant as soon as she could get them away from the city. ‘If you need to escape from somewhere again, just run as far as the nearest scuffer, and tell him you're being badly treated,' Miranda instructed. ‘Be good, and write to Mum every week. And don't forget us!'

Back in the city once more, the girls got beds in a hostel and went to the nearest recruiting office where they told their story and gave the sergeant in charge the address of the hostel. They were assured that because of their situation they would receive their postings within a week to ten days. Then they went down to the docks, where they found Steve working to help fight the many fires which still blazed. Before he could put his foot in it and ask about Gary, Miranda took him to one side and explained. ‘It's still too raw and painful for Avril to want to talk about it, so the less said the better,' she explained. ‘Later, when she's begun to accept that Gary's gone, she'll want to talk about him, but not yet.'

When she told him that they were joining the WAAF she wondered if he would think that they were running away in a cowardly fashion, but he gave his approval at once.

‘Without bed or board or so much as a stitch of your own clothing, you'd be nothing but another mouth to feed if you stayed here,' he told them. ‘As soon as they can spare me I shall go back to my airfield and start teaching the Jerries that they can't attack Liverpool with impunity.' He smiled at Miranda. ‘And the moment you get an address you must drop me a line with the telephone number of the Mess. You'll go to a training camp for starters and be there for about six weeks while they kit you out, train you to march with a heavy pack on your back and decide what you're best suited for . . .' he grinned, ‘and then they'll post you to somewhere entirely different.'

Miranda heaved a sigh. ‘I can see we shall be writing a great many letters to all the people who've been kind or helpful, or both,' she said ruefully. She looked up at the sky, which was clear and filled with wintry sunshine, and turned to Avril. ‘It wouldn't surprise me if there was another raid tonight, so let's get back to the hostel and have a zizz while we've got the chance.'

MIRANDA AND HER
fellow Waafs were in their hut, preparing for a kit inspection. Knowing how fussy their officer was they always tried to arrive at least ten minutes before the inspection was due to take place, and today was no exception. The rest of the air force might be whispering excitedly about the invasion which was such a big secret, but which everyone knew would be taking place very soon, but the Waafs had their minds fixed on the forthcoming inspection and nothing else.

‘Hey, has anyone seen my respirator? Oh, it's okay, it's under my bed.' That was Doris, whose bed was on the right-hand side of Miranda's. Doris was always in a flap about something. On Miranda's other side, Tiddles Tidsworth was trying to arrange her grey stockings so that the huge hole in one heel was out of sight. Miranda checked that her own kit was as it should be, then sat cautiously down on the end of her bed and addressed her neighbour.

‘Oh, Doris, this time tomorrow Sarah will be off to the north of England and my friend Avril will be settling in here. She'll find it strange after her beloved balloon site, but oh, it will be wonderful to have her around again.'

Tiddles gave a snort. ‘Isn't that just typical of the air force?' she demanded. ‘First they put girls on balloons,
one of the hardest jobs there is, and let them slog away at it for two or three years without apparently even noticing the casualty rates. Then, when it suits them, they decide to close just about all the balloon sites, and the ones that remain go back to the fellers.' She stood back and regarded her kit with approval. ‘Still, they have played fair in one respect; they let the redundant balloon ops retrain for the trade of their choice, though why your pal should chose MT is more than I can fathom.'

Miranda puffed out her chest and seized the lapels of her tunic. ‘I told her what a great thing it was to be an MT driver,' she said, grinning. ‘So naturally she went off to Wheaton for training same as I did. It was just sheer luck that she got posted here, though. It's months and months since we last met. I reckon she's as excited as I am.'

‘And I expect you'll want me to move my bed so that your pal and you can be next door to one another,' Doris said somewhat sulkily. She had already moved several times to accommodate friends who wanted to be together and was always threatening not to do so, but on this occasion at least the move, Miranda thought, would surely be to her advantage. Doris was a parachute packer and so was Sarah's neighbour, so Doris ought to welcome the change.

To the dismay of them both, Miranda and Avril had been separated after their initial training down in Gloucestershire, where they were kitted out with uniform and accessories such as knives, forks and spoons – usually known as ‘irons' – gas masks and button sticks and taught to march, to wear the correct uniform for every occasion, and to keep everything immaculate. At Wheaton Miranda
was taught to drive, to maintain engines and to become, in short, a mechanical transport driver. She and her fellow MT drivers might drive trucks, salvage wagons, ambulances, tractors or mortuary vans as well as staff cars, and very soon Miranda found herself on an airfield in Norfolk, learning the practicalities of her trade. Sitting on the end of her bed, now, and thinking about the past three years, she remembered ruefully that, upon passing out as a fully trained MT driver, she had thought it would be a cushy job. That had soon proved to be an illusion, for at times drivers had to find their way in almost pitch darkness across countryside from which all signposts and other means of identification had been removed. Furthermore, they had to find their destination with virtually no headlights, since these were masked, with only a little slit of light to make them visible to others allowed.

She soon discovered that East Anglia was covered in airfields and as a driver she had to visit all of them, sometimes carrying messages, sometimes officers and sometimes aircrew. She drove the liberty truck into the nearest big town, loaded with off-duty airmen, and on more than one occasion she drove their group captain up to London for an important meeting. On her first long drive it was winter, the snow thick on the ground, and though she managed to find her way to her destination she got hopelessly lost trying to get out of London, and was almost ready to burst into tears when, having stopped to try to find some indication of their position, she was hailed by a passing lorry driver, who had slowed and leaned out of his cab to see if she needed help. ‘Are you lost, lass?' he asked in a strong Scottish accent. ‘Where are you bound?'

Miranda hesitated; should she say, or would she get into trouble if she did? But a voice from the back seat reassured her. ‘Tell him,' the voice said impatiently. ‘He's not likely to be a spy in the middle of London with snow on the ground.'

‘Righty ho, sir,' Miranda had said thankfully. She put her head out of the window and gave the required information.