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

was where most of the pilots congregated. The Sergeants’ Mess might have better beer but it wasn’t where you got all the gen about what was going to happen.

He was a bit cheesed off about being treated like an inferior specimen by the toffee-nosed lot. No doubt when it all kicked off, and he proved his worth, things would be different. The RAF only took volunteers which meant that even the lowliest ACM2 had chosen to be there.

It rankled that he had ten times the flying hours than anyone else in his squadron but he was still spoken to as if he was in need of advice. Until the weather improved, there wasn’t even the pleasure of taking his kite up for a spin. He played cards, but as he wasn’t a gambler he didn’t join the games of pontoon and poker.

He and Ian, now nicknamed Bob, played darts and dominoes together most of the time.

‘Hey, Ginger, there’s a letter for you,’ an orderly yelled across the room.

‘Chuck it over then, I’m too bloody idle to come and get it.’ His response was received with a rude gesture but the envelope spun across the room and landed in his lap.

‘That from Ellie?’ Bob asked as he stared morosely at his hand of dominoes.

‘Nobody else writes to me, so it must be.’

He looked forward to his weekly letters from Ellie. The dogs were earning their keep as there had been no further visits from the fox. Fred and Mrs B were happy and there’d been no further aggravation from the ex-Mrs Simpson.

He’d been surprised when she’d written to tell him she was joining the WAAF but didn’t blame her. She was the sort of girl who needed excitement in her life and planting spuds wasn’t going to suit her. The last letter he’d had she’d told him she’d just finished her training and was about to be posted. He’d heard nothing since and it was more than three weeks.

He examined the envelope and the writing was unfamiliar. He tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Dear Jack,

I’m sorry to tell you that your Uncle Joe passed away last week. The doctors said it was his heart. I got your present address from Mr Simpson. There will be a letter coming from the solicitors about his will.

The funeral will have taken place by the time you receive this. I hope you’re keeping well,

best wishes

Joe dead – terrible for the poor old bugger to end his life in prison, even if he did deserve to be there. There was no forwarding address on the letter so he couldn’t reply.

‘What’s up, mate? Bad news?’

‘My uncle died last week. I told you about him. I don’t think he was more than fifty, but I expect the strain of being inside did for him.’ He tore the letter up and tossed the bits into the nearest waste-bin. ‘It should have been from Ellie. I’m going to give Fred a ring just to make sure everything’s all right.’

There was no queue for the one phone. He dialled the operator, gave Fred’s number, put sufficient pennies into the slot and waited with his finger poised. As soon as he heard Mrs B he pushed the button and heard the money drop.

‘Mrs B, it’s Jack. I’ve not heard from Ellie and just wanted to know that she’s okay.’

‘My Fred’s that worried about it, Jack. He told her not to volunteer and heaven knows where she’s been sent or what she’s doing. We have to send our letters to an office and then they forward them for us. I can give you that address if you like.’

He wrote it down. ‘Thank you, just what I wanted. I expect she’s too busy being trained in whatever it is and hasn’t got a moment to write.’

‘She could always give her dad a call.’

‘If it’s a secret establishment I doubt that they have access to a telephone.’

He spent the remainder of the time before the pips went enquiring after Fred and the farm and then said goodbye. Whatever hush-hush job she was being trained for, she couldn’t be kept incommunicado indefinitely.

Twenty-seven

Ellie was none the wiser as to what she might actually be doing at the end of the course even though she’d spent the day sitting with Mary inside a blacked-out cubicle. Half a dozen of these little boxes had been constructed in the main hall of this stately home. An RAF man stood behind them giving them instructions.

The girls emerged blinking from their confinement, none of them speaking, all of them looking as bewildered as she was. They had half an hour’s free time before they had to go to the canteen for their evening meal.

She was sharing with Daisy and Mary and as soon as the doors closed she said what she’d been holding back until that moment. ‘What on earth have we been doing? I can’t see how staring at that screen and twiddling the knobs to find a green blob is of any use to anyone.’

‘I’ve got a splitting headache,’ Mary said, ‘do either of you have any aspirin?’

Daisy gave her a couple from the bottle she kept in her wash bag. ‘Half the time we didn’t see anything apart from flashes and lines on the screen.’

‘I wish I hadn’t volunteered, I really don’t want to spend the rest of my time in the WAAF shut away like we have been today,’ Ellie said.

‘There’s not time to have a lie down or proper wash before we go to eat, I’m not particularly hungry, but if the food is as good as it was at lunchtime I expect I’ll force it down.’ Daisy rubbed her eyes and went to collect her irons from the bedside table.

‘The work might be peculiar, but it’s a very comfortable billet we’ve got here. A real mattress and proper sheets is a luxury I’ve learned to live without,’ Ellie said with a smile.

‘There’s no telephone we can use and it