Authors: Lily Baxter
By the time the all clear sounded Miranda was cramped and exhausted both physically and emotionally. She had also missed the last bus which would have taken her back to the guest house and she had no choice other than to set off on foot. The buildings on the skyline were silhouetted against a background of raging fires and plumes of smoke rising from bomb-damaged houses. The acrid smell of burning filled her nostrils and the air was filled with clouds of dust, making it necessary to cover her nose and mouth with her scarf in order to breathe. The quiet of the night had been shattered and people were wandering about in their nightclothes, shocked and crying or scrabbling amongst the rubble searching for loved ones or lost possessions.
She could not simply turn her back on such a disaster and she found herself helping an elderly woman whom she found sitting on what was left of a brick wall outside the ruin of her house. She took her to a Red Cross first aid station and having made sure that she was being cared for Miranda returned to the streets to see if there was anything else she could do. The clanging of fire engine bells echoed off the buildings that remained intact and the rumble of falling masonry was accompanied by shouts of warning from the ARP wardens and the police who were attempting to restore order out of chaos. Miranda spent the rest of the night taking survivors to the warmth and safety of the emergency shelter.
As dawn broke the true devastation caused by the air raid became even more apparent, but only those beyond help were left beneath the bomb-ravaged buildings. Tired, dirty and traumatised Miranda made her way back to the guest house. She hoped and prayed that the hospital had not been one of the casualties of the bombing raid. She arrived at the guest house to find the landlady outside sweeping the path as if nothing had happened, and perhaps in her world nothing had changed since the previous day as the houses in this particular street remained unscathed.
She gave Miranda what Annie would have called a very old-fashioned look. ‘You’re a bit of a dirty stop-out, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ She
removed
the cigarette end from her lips and tossed it onto the bare soil in a flowerbed.
Miranda was too tired to argue. ‘At least your house was spared,’ she said dully. ‘Think yourself lucky, Mrs Doughty.’
‘No need to take that tone with me, miss. I was just passing the time of day.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m tired and I’m dirty. I’ve been helping the bomb victims all night and I’d really like a bath and perhaps something to eat before I leave.’
‘Mr Doughty’s about to have his weekly bath, so there’s no hot water and I don’t light the boiler until tea time. There’s some cold fishcakes in the pantry and some bread in the crock, but don’t use all the marg because that’s the last of our ration for this week.’
‘Fine. Thank you.’ Miranda acknowledged her with a vague wave of her hand. The thought of eating cold fishcakes was enough to turn anyone’s stomach. With the prospect of washing in cold water and nothing but dry bread for breakfast, she went to her room.
She did her best to spruce up her uniform and even a cold wash was better than nothing, but her thoughts were with Gil lying helpless in his hospital bed. She had not thought to bring any writing paper with her and she tore a page from her diary, penning a brief note, explaining that she had to leave for Henlow Priory that morning, but she said nothing
about
her meeting with his mother. She promised to write often and to visit him on her next leave, whenever that might be. She had filled the page and she signed it, adding a kiss for good measure.
She went downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to get a cup of tea before she paid her landlady and left Alma Villa with no intention of ever returning. She found Mr Doughty sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and looking very grubby, but at least he greeted her with a smile. ‘Hello, ducks. Want a cuppa? There’s some left in the pot.’
‘Thank you.’ She put her case down and took a seat at the table, eyeing a slice of toast which was propped up against a jam jar with just a scraping of what might be some kind of berry jam in the bottom.
‘It’s yours if you want it, love,’ Mr Doughty said, stubbing the dog end out in an overflowing ashtray. ‘I had something at the station before I came off night duty, so I ain’t that hungry. She gets on at me if I waste food, so you eat it and welcome.’
Miranda realised suddenly that she was very hungry. The toast was cold and the jam was thick and did not taste of anything in particular, but it was sweet and just what she needed to revive her flagging spirits. She poured tea for herself and sipped from the cracked cup, taking care to avoid the sharp edge.
‘You going back to the aerodrome today, ducks?’ Mr Doughty seemed in the mood to chat, despite the fact that he had dark circles beneath his eyes
and
he looked as though he needed his bed. ‘We was lucky to escape the bombing last night.’
‘It was terrible. I saw dreadful things.’
‘Got caught up in it, did you?’ He shook his head. ‘Bad do. Bloody Jerries.’
‘I don’t suppose you know if the hospital was hit, do you?’
‘Not that I heard of. One of the day-shift blokes come that way and he never mentioned it when he relieved me. They missed the railway lines too. The bastards! I’d give ’em what for.’
Miranda could have hugged him with sheer relief, but he was covered with dirt and engine oil and anyway he did not look the huggable sort of person. She smiled and nodded. ‘I’m sure you would.’
He stood up, sending a shower of what looked like rust onto the linoleum. ‘Got to have me bath now. Bloody five inches of water. Who do they think they are that expect a working man to get hisself clean in a bloody puddle?’
‘You wouldn’t have an envelope and a postage stamp I could buy, would you, Mr Doughty?’
He put his head on one side, grinning. ‘Want to send a love letter to your boyfriend, do you, ducks?’
‘Something like that.’
He went to the mantelpiece above the coke boiler and tweaked an envelope from a letter rack filled with what looked like utility bills. ‘Haven’t got any stamps, but you’ve got to pass the post office on your way to the station.’
Miranda took it from him with a grateful smile. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘No charge. Her outside says you never slept in your bed so consider it a bit of a rebate. She’ll charge you full whack despite the fact that she don’t have to wash the sheets.’ He ambled from the room whistling tunelessly.
It was early evening when Miranda arrived at Henlow Priory. She had had to wait several hours for the train and then the journey was slow, stopping at all stations. She had waited for what seemed like an eternity for the bus which took her to the village and had walked the last couple of miles, arriving tired, muddy and extremely hungry.
Hut five seemed warm and welcoming and almost like coming home after her experience in Alma Villa and her meeting with Mrs Maddern. Corporal Fox was almost effusive in her greeting and Val was positively ecstatic.
‘It’s good to have you back, Beddoes,’ Corporal Fox said, adjusting her cap and making for the outer door. ‘I’ve rostered you to start on Monday morning. Thought I’d give you a chance to settle in.’
‘Thanks,’ Miranda said with a weary smile. ‘I appreciate that, Corp.’
Val waited until the corporal had left the hut before slumping down on Miranda’s bed. ‘That was a welcome from old Frosty Fox. She must like you.’
Miranda glanced round at the rows of empty beds. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘The ones who aren’t on the night shift are in the ablutions tarting themselves up for a night out. The others are on duty. Nothing’s changed.’
At that moment Angela breezed in carrying her towel and wash bag. Her face lit up when she saw Miranda and after an emotional greeting she sat beside Val, curling her long legs around her. ‘So tell all, darling. How did it go at home?’ She gave a start as Val nudged her in the ribs. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I was only asking.’
Miranda shrugged off her jacket and hung it in her locker. ‘I’ll tell you everything, but would you mind if I went and had a shower first? I was up all night helping the Red Cross workers during an air raid and I haven’t had a proper wash for two days.’
‘Go!’ Laughing, Angela pointed to the door. ‘Come back when you’re fit for human company and not before.’
The girls were all sympathetic and supportive when they heard about Miranda’s difficulties with Mrs Maddern. Janice volunteered to take the lady on and tell her that she would be lucky to have someone as nice and caring as Miranda who was willing to put up with a cripple, but this idea was firmly vetoed by everyone, including Miranda.
Despite the fact that she was among friends, Miranda was finding it difficult to settle down
again
after her home leave. The emotional turmoil of those closest to her had left its mark and Mrs Maddern’s intransigent attitude had made her even more determined to keep in touch with Gil. She wrote to him every day, addressing the envelopes to the hospital in Yarmouth for a week, and then more in hope than certainty she posted them to the Royal Victoria hospital at Southampton. She also wrote to Felicity, begging her to send her news of Gil’s progress, but none of her letters were answered.
Miranda waited eagerly for some response, but when none came she became increasingly frustrated and desperate. Christmas came and went with a few parties in the mess, but no more home leave and no word from Gil or Fliss. The New Year celebrations were muted and January was a bleak month.
‘You ought to stop moping around here, darling,’ Angela said to her one Saturday evening when they were both off duty. ‘Let’s go to the pub for a quiet drink.’
‘We’re going dancing,’ Janice said, leaping off her bed to perform a quick demonstration. ‘Come with us to the palais de dance, village hall style.’
Miranda chuckled at her antics but she shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I might pass on that one, Jan.’ She turned to Angela with a sigh. ‘Maybe a quick one at the pub, although I’m not really in the mood.’
‘That’s one of my favourites,’ Janice said,
humming
the tune. ‘And I just love “Blues in the Night” too. Are you sure you won’t join us, love?’
‘You’ve told us that a dozen times, Janice,’ Angela said lazily. ‘Stop pestering Miranda. You’re a frightful bore when you keep on at people.’
‘Pardon me for breathing.’ Janice stuck her tongue out and waltzed out of the hut swinging her wash bag.
‘What I didn’t mention in front of big ears,’ Angela said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘is that the glamour-boys are sure to be there this evening.’
‘I’m not interested in meeting other chaps, Angie.’
‘So your heart belongs to Mad Dog, does it?’
Miranda felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘I – I don’t know. It just feels wrong.’
‘I’d say you’d fallen for him, hook line and sinker.’ Angela put her arm around Miranda’s shoulders. ‘Don’t look so tragic, darling. It happens to the best of us at one time or another. Actually I’ve got a bit of a pash for a certain squadron leader, so I completely understand.’
‘No. You’re wrong.’ Miranda twisted away. ‘I’m just sorry for Gil, and I feel responsible in some way. Maybe if I’d been nicer to him and not so suspicious things might have been different.’
‘That’s crazy logic, darling. You didn’t shoot his plane out of the sky, and you didn’t give him a mother who’s a Gorgon. But whether you like it or
not
, he’s in love with you.’ Angela smiled and nodded. ‘And you are halfway to being in love with him, unless I’m very much mistaken.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’ Miranda moved away to her locker and searched for something other than her uniform. ‘All right, I’ll go to the pub with you.’
Angela flicked her long hair back from her face with a smug smile. ‘And there might just be some of Gil’s friends popping in for a pint or two. It might be a good move to get one of them to send your letters on to Gil. I don’t suppose that Mother Maddern would dream of opening something that came from a chap, would she?’
The pub was crowded as usual and noisy with the sound of male voices and bursts of laughter. Angela led the way to the bar, acknowledging several of the men in uniform with smiles and nods, responding cheerfully to their banter. Miranda followed on, feeling ill at ease as she remembered her last meeting here with Gil. They had been happy on that occasion with no thought of what might lie ahead. Lives were lost or blighted in the blink of an eye, and she felt suddenly sad and wished that she had not come, but Angela was chatting to an officer at the bar and she was beckoning to her. Reluctantly, she went to join them.
‘Have you met Lionel Castle, Miranda? He’s Gil’s squadron leader and best friend.’
Lionel slid off the bar stool and held out his hand.
‘How
do you do, Miranda? Gil was always talking about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.’
Angela gave her a gentle push towards him. ‘Here’s your chance, darling. Don’t get in a funk now.’
Chapter Nineteen
‘HOW DO YOU
do?’ Miranda shook hands.
Angela slipped her arm around Lionel’s shoulders. ‘I think Miranda wants to ask you something, don’t you, darling?’
‘It seems an awful cheek when we’ve only just met,’ Miranda murmured, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She gave him a sideways glance and was surprised to see that he was regarding her with a sympathetic smile.
‘It’s all right, Miranda. Angela’s filled me in on the background and I’d be only too pleased to help.’
‘You would? I mean, that’s very good of you.’
His eyes crinkled at the corners and Miranda could see what had attracted Angela to him. He was not the best-looking man in the bar but he had kind eyes and a generous mouth. He gave the impression of being someone you could trust utterly and completely. She found herself launching into a detailed account of her visit to The Gables and her confrontation with Mrs Maddern outside the hospital. ‘I know she’s only trying to protect her son, but I wouldn’t abandon Gil. Even if he spent
the
rest of his life in a wheelchair I’d always be there for him.’