A wedding for the bomber.., p.1
A Wedding for the Bomber Girls, page 1
A Wedding for the Bomber Girls
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Vicki Beeby
Copyright
Title Page
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
As always, to my family:
Mum
Duncan, Jana & Emma
Chris, Katka & Elena
Chapter One
Lincolnshire
March 1943
‘Any letters for me?’ Thea asked the corporal on duty in the WAAF guardroom. ‘Cooper, five five two, Hut Four.’ After three years in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, it came as second nature to recite the last three digits of her service number when giving her name.
The corporal rummaged through the letters. ‘Hut Four… Hut Four,’ she mumbled under her breath. ‘Here we are. Oh, they’ve all been collected apart from this one for you.’ She slid an envelope across the counter. ‘Can’t think how it got missed out.’
Thea could. She glanced at the letter and recognised her grandmother’s handwriting. She stuffed it in her pocket, then looked back at the corporal. ‘You’re new, aren’t you, Corp?’
‘That’s right. I arrived three days ago.’ She gave a self-conscious glance at the stripes on her sleeve, and Thea guessed she was newly promoted.
‘Well, give it a few days and you’ll find out why no one collects my mail.’ The main post office in the camp sorted the post by hut and delivered it to the WAAF guardroom for collection. Here at Fenthorpe, it was considered good form for the first WAAF going to the guardroom that day to collect the post for everyone else in her hut also. In recent weeks, however, Thea’s mail had always been missed.
She gave the corporal a cheery grin and left the guardroom. The grin was entirely for show, and she did her best to keep it on her face for the benefit of the other WAAFs milling around the Waafery. It was only once she had collected her bicycle and was riding along the lane to RAF Fenthorpe’s main gate that she allowed her smile to slip. She didn’t want to give the other WAAFs the satisfaction of knowing how much their treatment hurt.
As she had the morning off, she would have liked to escape Fenthorpe for a while, only she had agreed to meet her sister, Pearl, in the NAAFI later. Together with their friend Jenny, that made a grand total of two people in the NAAFI who would be prepared to speak to her.
Thea gave herself a mental shake. Let everyone whisper behind their hands. See if she cared. It was their loss if they didn’t believe in her innocence. She parked her bike behind the NAAFI, then walked in, head held high.
Her spirits lifted when she saw that week’s issue of the Bombshell had arrived. Until now it had been published monthly and only distributed in RAF Fenthorpe. However, with her sister seconded to work full time on the newspaper, the circulation had been expanded to include all the bomber stations of 5 Group, and it was now also published weekly. From the depleted pile on the counter and the number of people in the NAAFI reading a copy, it was clear that the changes hadn’t reduced its popularity. Eager to see how the crossword she’d compiled had turned out, she picked up a copy and paid for it, together with a mug of tea and a wad – the ground crew’s name for a rock cake. Knowing it would be a good half-hour before either Pearl or Jenny arrived, she went to sit at an empty table by the window, not bothering to try joining any of the groups at the occupied tables. Unfolding the newspaper, she placed it on the table and began to read.
‘Excuse me, do you mind if we join you?’
Thea glanced up, surprised at the interruption, to see a WAAF in a uniform so pristine she must be straight out of initial training. Thea pointed at the chair opposite and was about to invite the newcomer to sit when another WAAF hurried up and grabbed the arm of the girl who had spoken to Thea. ‘Not there,’ she muttered.
Ignoring the second WAAF, Thea smiled at the new WAAF. ‘I’m Thea Cooper. You’re very welcome to join me if you’d like. In fairness, I ought to warn you that everyone thinks I’m a thief.’ She lifted the lapel of her battledress tunic to reveal the gold and emerald four-leaf clover pin she always wore. ‘Apparently I stole this from a dead wireless operator. It’s a good story. Gossip’s always more interesting than the truth.’
The girl stared at her wide-eyed, but her companion dragged her to another table before she could reply. Pretending to read her newspaper unconcerned, Thea kept half an eye on the two women. Sure enough, hardly had they sat down before the others at their table were leaning towards the new WAAF, speaking behind their hands with many furtive glances in Thea’s direction. No doubt they were filling in the newcomer on Thea’s many misdeeds.
‘Mind if I sit here?’ This time it was a male voice.
‘Be my guest.’ Thea spoke without looking up. ‘You might want to hold on to your valuables, though.’
‘I’ll risk it.’
Thea glanced up, only belatedly recognising the newcomer as a friend. Flight Sergeant James Fitzgerald, commonly known as Fitz, dropped into the chair opposite and regarded her with a quizzical expression. ‘Having a bad day? I thought you could use the company, but I’ll go if you’d rather be alone.’
He half rose, but Thea, mortified at her offhand greeting, waved him back into his seat. Fitz was the bomb aimer in C-Charlie’s crew – one of two Lancasters Thea worked on. Her aircrews were among the few people in Fenthorpe who believed she was not a thief, and she had no wish to alienate them as well. ‘No worse than usual. Sorry. I’d like the company if you’ve got time. Aren’t you flying ops tonight?’
Fitz nodded and lit a cigarette with a hand that shook slightly. This didn’t surprise Thea; anyone who had flown as many missions as Fitz developed shaking hands or tics. She knew better than to pass comment. ‘Just finished our night flying test, so I’ve got some spare time before the briefing.’
‘Ah, and you thought you’d spend it with the station pariah.’
Fitz’s blue eyes sparkled. ‘So much more exciting than with some dull admin type.’ Then his expression grew more serious, and he leaned across the table. ‘Look, Thea, you don’t fool me. I can see how this nonsense has got under your skin, but it will soon blow over. It has to. Everyone’s read the Bombshell article, which makes it perfectly clear you didn’t steal anything.’
Thea couldn’t speak for a moment, taken aback by the apparent ease with which Fitz had seen through her bravado. Everyone on the station – Pearl and Jenny excepted – took her act at face value and thought she didn’t care. No one else had bothered to look deeper to see how hurtful she found the treatment. Until now.
Pulling herself together, she rolled her eyes. ‘You’re forgetting it was written by my sister. Everyone says she’s covering up my involvement.’
The thefts referred to had caused outrage in RAF Fenthorpe when the story had broken. The station adjutant, who oversaw the committee responsible for returning dead aircrews’ possessions to their families, had been discovered stealing some of these items. Unfortunately, Thea had been involved when the gold and emerald tiepin, a gift from her wireless operator friend Max Turner, had been reported stolen by Max’s sister after he had been killed. Thea had no proof that it had been a present, and so most of the base considered her guilty and that her crime had been hushed up because the person who had uncovered the thefts was Thea’s sister. They had made their feelings clear by sending her to Coventry, only speaking to her when necessary. There were still a few people who stuck their neck out for her, though – Pearl, her fiancé Greg and their friend Jenny. And now Fitz. She supposed she ought to be grateful.
Only… hang on. Fitz was on Greg’s crew. She regarded him with narrowed eyes. ‘Did Pearl put you up to this?’
‘Up to what?’ He met her gaze with a wide-eyed innocence that was almost convincing.
‘She asked Greg to get his crew to be nice to me, didn’t she.’ She was struck by a pang of disappointment. For a moment she had actually thought that Fitz’s friendliness was genuine.
‘So what if she did? I know you haven’t done anything wrong.’
He sounded sincere, but that wasn’t the point. Pearl was interfering yet again. ‘Look, I don’t need your pity – or anyone else’s, come to that. If that’s the only reason you came to speak to me, you can leave.’
He frowned. ‘Pity? That’s not why I came to speak to you. I—’
At that moment his attention seemed to be caught by s omething or someone across the room, and he glanced away, frowning. Following his gaze, Thea saw C-Charlie’s tail gunner, Jack Knight, hunched over a mug of tea in the corner of the room. He was alone and gazing at his cup with an expression of misery that made Thea’s heart twist.
Fitz rose. ‘Look, I’m needed elsewhere.’ He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘For what it’s worth, I didn’t sit here because of anything your sister said. I can decide for myself who I speak to, and you seem an interesting person. Maybe next time we meet we can start afresh.’
Thea watched him walk away, feeling like a complete heel. She drained her cup and shoved back her chair, suddenly unable to bear the suspicious looks and whispered conversation any longer.
Once outside, she saw that fog was rolling in from the east, blotting out the pale sunshine and making the prospect of waiting outside far less appealing. There was no way she could face going back into the NAAFI though, so she turned up the collar of her greatcoat and dawdled along the path between the NAAFI and the Watch Office. The Met Office, where Jenny worked, was situated on the ground floor of the Watch Office, so it made sense to wait for her friend nearby. She had just found a spot to lean against the wall when the door was flung open and the new station commander emerged, accompanied by Squadron Leader David Forrester, the medical officer. Thea hastily sprang to attention and saluted; Group Captain Rhodes had only arrived a week earlier, replacing Group Captain Morgan, and rumours already abounded that he was a strict disciplinarian. Forrester returned her salute, acknowledging her with a nod and a smile. Rhodes returned the salute with barely a glance in her direction and without breaking his stride.
‘What did you want to speak to me about?’ Rhodes boomed to Forrester, his voice so loud Thea could hear even though the two men were walking away.
‘We should really wait until we’re in your office.’
‘Nonsense. I’m a busy man. If we can’t talk now, I haven’t got time to deal with it.’
‘It’s Sergeant Wright, sir.’
Despite herself, Thea pricked up her ears. Wright was a gunner on one of the bomber crews, and she’d heard that he’d been showing signs of strain recently and had refused to fly. This was by no means the first time a crew member had buckled under the stress. Considering the terrible danger the aircrews faced, Thea was surprised this didn’t happen more often. Although she had heard tales from other bomber stations of men being labelled Lacking Moral Fibre, or LMF, and being publicly humiliated, nothing like that had happened at Fenthorpe. While the men concerned had left the station, as far as she knew, they had been treated with understanding.
‘What about him?’ Rhodes snapped. ‘He’s leaving today. I’m on my way to the parade now.’
Parade? Thea frowned. That didn’t sound good.
‘It’s about the parade I wanted to see you. Are you sure it’s good for morale?’
‘Absolutely. What’s bad for morale is having a coward on the station.’
Thea felt sick. She hated that a man who had volunteered as aircrew could be labelled with such a hateful term. Part of her work involved meeting the Lancasters returning from bombing operations, and she had seen the holes from bullets and shrapnel and had, on occasion, had to clean blood from the instruments. In her view, it was a wonder any men could be persuaded to fly more than one mission, let alone thirty. Surely there must be a more compassionate way to deal with men who had become overwhelmed by the stress of it all.
The MO evidently agreed, for he said, ‘I don’t think he’s a coward. If I could just—’
‘Has he been injured? Does he have a cold or the flu?’
‘Well, no, but—’
‘Then it’s not a medical matter but a matter of discipline. And that’s nothing to do with you. We need every available man in the air, so we must set an example. If the aircrews start thinking they can plead flying stress or whatever nonsense is being spouted these days, we’d never have a squadron at full strength again.’
The men’s voices had been fading, and now Thea could no longer pick out any words. But what she had heard left her feeling cold and sick. Everyone had been wondering what the new station commander was like, and now she knew. He was a disciplinarian who had more interest in running RAF Fenthorpe like clockwork than the wellbeing of the men and women who lived and worked there.
Chapter Two
Fitz did his best to put the prickly Thea out of his mind as he approached Jack’s table. If she didn’t want any friends that was her lookout. Although it was true that Greg had asked his crew to be kind to her, that wasn’t the reason he had spoken to her. He had thought she looked uncomfortable being subjected to the hostile scrutiny of pretty well everyone in the NAAFI and had wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. Her unbothered act hadn’t fooled him.
But Jack clearly needed his help more than Thea at the moment. The tail gunner made no attempt to return any of the greetings from anyone approaching his table but gripped his mug as though his life depended on it. No one else bothered to ask what was troubling him, but Jack was a fellow crew member, and to Fitz his crew were like his family.
Jack jumped when Fitz took the chair opposite, as though he hadn’t even noticed him approach.
‘Mind if I join you?’
Jack barely looked up. ‘Suit yourself.’
Fitz leaned across the table so he could speak without being overheard. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, you know. The usual.’ Jack still wouldn’t meet his eye.
‘If by “the usual” you mean our impending mission while the entire Luftwaffe is intent on blowing us out of the sky, then I can’t say I blame you.’
Jack did look up then. ‘How can you make a joke out of it?’
‘Because I’d go mad if I didn’t.’ Fitz pulled his cigarette case out of his pocket and offered it to Jack before taking a cigarette for himself. He watched with increasing concern while Jack reached in his own pocket for his matches, then tried and failed three times to strike a match with a hand that shook so badly he seemed unable to make firm contact with the lighting strip. Finally Fitz took pity on him, struck a match and held it for Jack to use. Jack drew on his cigarette and then blew out a cloud of smoke in a long, shaky breath.
Fitz lit his own cigarette and waited until Jack seemed calmer before observing, ‘You always used to joke about our situation, same as everyone else. What’s changed?’
‘Promise you won’t breathe a word to anyone else?’
‘Cross my heart.’ In the circumstances, Fitz left out the hope to die part.
‘Remember the mission to Mannheim in December?’
‘I’m not likely to forget.’ C-Charlie had been hit by flak, injuring three crew members, Jack included. They had been lucky to make it home at all. ‘You seemed fine afterwards, though.’ In fact, he had seemed more high-spirited than usual, even going so far as to steal the station adjutant’s cap. While he had been wearing it.
Jack took another drag from his cigarette, flicking the ash into the ashtray before replying. ‘Yeah, but then we were stood down for a while.’ He shook his head. ‘Bad mistake. I had too much time to think. Mannheim haunted me. I couldn’t forget that if the shrapnel had hit just a few inches to the right, it would have got me in the heart instead of just taking a slice out of my shoulder. Then I’d have never seen my folks or my girl again.’
Fitz had no reply to that. For the most part he was able to lock away the dizzying thoughts of oblivion, but every now and again he would have a night when he was unable to sleep, and then the paralysing fear would strike. He would never admit this to any of his crewmates, though, not wanting to appear weak. Instead, he did his best to forget the danger, and he guessed the others did the same. Jack must be suffering intensely to give a voice to his fears.
‘How many ops have you got left – eight? Nine?’
‘Eight.’
Fitz nodded. He himself had five missions remaining until the end of his tour, the same as his pilot, Greg. However, his crew had been cobbled together from survivors of other aircrews, and he knew most of the men had a few more to go. ‘That’s not too long. Once you’re through, you’ll be able to take a cushy post as an instructor and see out the war as safe as anyone. No one can force you to do another tour.’ Although all aircrew were volunteers, those who completed their training were required to complete a tour of thirty missions. Once their tour of duty was over, they would be rotated to safer postings, often as instructors. Worryingly few aircrew actually completed their tour, but Fitz hastily dismissed that thought.
