Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2 by Fenella Miller (top 10 ebook reader txt) 📗

left was to try and explain to Dad why she’d decided to leave Glebe Farm. One of the reasons was the growing closeness between Mabel and him – and she could hardly tell him that.

Both of them were in the sitting room – Mabel no longer used her own parlour. She poked her head around the door. ‘I’m going to make myself a cocoa. Do you want one?’

‘That would be lovely, and there’s the last of the Christmas cake in the tin,’ Mabel told her.

Ellie thought it would be easier to make her announcement when her father was happily munching cake and drinking cocoa. The reaction she got was quite unexpected.

‘Well, love, you’ve always been a girl for adventure. To tell you the truth, I’d rather you were in the WAAFs than married. Don’t get me wrong, I like your young man, but he’ll take you away from me. He’ll want you to become like him, like your mother, and I won’t be good enough anymore.’

She put down her cup and dropped to her knees beside him. ‘Dad, if I thought Greg was like that I wouldn’t have got engaged to him. This is my home and I’ll always come and see you as often as I can.’

To her astonishment Mabel was sniffing into her handkerchief. ‘It won’t be the same here with you gone, Ellie love. I never had children, but if I had I would have wanted a daughter just like you. You don’t take any nonsense from anyone. I bet they have you made up to an officer in no time.’

*

The journey to the recruits’ training centre was interminable, the train freezing, the sandwiches and flask of coffee Ellie had brought with her were like a distant memory when she eventually disembarked. She looked around the almost deserted station in the hope of seeing some other girls who were on their way to the same destination.

She was on her own, as she had been all day as the train had shunted in and out of sidings and stopped at innumerable anonymous stations. She was wearing her warmest slacks, long johns, plus a blouse and two jumpers. On top of all this was her thick leather flying jacket. At least she wasn’t going to get cold, however far she had to walk.

The ticket collector shook his head when she asked him for directions. ‘It’s two miles to the barracks, miss, I don’t think you should try and walk it, not in this weather. If you sit in the waiting room I reckon they’ll send someone for you. Maybe there’s a few more girls coming on the next train.’

‘When is the next train?’

‘That’s anybody’s guess, yours was over an hour late. Should be one before dark.’

Ellie thought for a moment. ‘Thank you, but I’ll walk. I’m a country girl and a couple of miles is nothing even in the snow.’

If she’d been wearing a skirt as most young ladies would be she would never have attempted it. But dressed as she was, she was sure she’d reach her destination without mishap. Her belongings weren’t in a suitcase but in a knapsack. Dad had dug it out from the attic for her – it was the one he’d had in the last war.

She tied her scarf around her mouth, pulled the flaps of her flying helmet over her ears, settled the goggles on the end of her nose, and was ready to set off. There was no danger of her getting lost as all she had to do was follow the road she was on. Despite the swirling snow she made good progress and a little over half an hour later she spotted the gates.

She wasn’t sure of the correct protocol – but decided she would announce herself to the huddled shape in the gatehouse. She stood outside for a few moments waiting to be acknowledged but she was ignored. The windows were so steamed up perhaps he couldn’t see her.

Her second bang on the door elicited a response, but not the one she was expecting. The man’s head jerked up and he stared back with open mouth. Then he was on his feet. The door was flung open and she almost wet herself when he pushed a rifle into her middle. She stumbled back and ended up on her bottom in the snow.

‘Sod me! I beg yer pardon, miss, I thought we was being invaded by the Huns.’ He reached down and hauled her to her feet with a sheepish grin.

‘That’s all right, I expect it’s my goggles that did it. I’m Ellen Simpson, reporting for training.’

‘Where did you spring from? We didn’t expect the next lot until this evening.’

Ellie hoped this interrogation wouldn’t take too long. The snow had seeped through her winceyette long johns as well as her slacks and they were both clinging unpleasantly to her rear end.

‘I walked here from the station.’

‘Good for you. Come in for a minute whilst I ring through. They’ll send someone from admin to get you.’

Sure enough in less than ten minutes a female figure, muffled in a greatcoat, arrived at the door. ‘Good heavens, Simpson, this isn’t a good start.’ The young woman stared at her and obviously didn’t like what she saw.

Ellie realised she’d committed a major faux pas – in fact two – firstly by not wearing stockings and skirt and secondly by having the temerity to walk on her own and not wait for the designated transport. She was tempted to offer go back to the station, but that would be childish.

Despite the disapproving look she wasn’t going to apologise. She had been instructed to report immediately to this place and she’d done exactly that.

‘Don’t stand there gawping, Simpson, follow me. I’ll conduct you to your barracks, but I warn you it won’t be very pleasant as the stove isn’t lit until five o’clock.’

Ellie smiled pleasantly but didn’t reply. The years she’d spent at school had taught her it was better not to provoke those