A Sister’s Courage
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‘And just what do you intend to do, Lorraine?’ her mother challenged.
This was the opportunity Raine had been waiting for. It was such a shock to hear they really were at war, that telling her mother she was now a qualified pilot would get everything over with in one go. But her answer to her mother’s question was swallowed up in a wailing sound, which sent shivers across her shoulders. An air-raid siren.
Simone screamed and rushed to the window. ‘They’re bombing us already!’ She began to sob. ‘Oh, why did we have to leave our lovely house with the basement to keep us safe?’
Raine saw her father flinch at Maman’s accusatory tone.
‘It will only be a practice,’ he said, ‘though I’m afraid we’ll have to get used to the sound. But it won’t happen for a while, I’m sure, until the Germans decide how to respond now we’ve told them it’s war. And the village shelters aren’t far.’
Simone rounded on her husband. ‘How do you know what that creature is thinking?’ she demanded. ‘And what is the use of a shelter in the village if we are trapped here and killed?’
‘Calm down, my love. I imagine it was quite a surprise to the Germans. Hitler was always so sure that Britain would be persuaded to become one of his allies. How little does he know the British mind.’
Peace in our time. Would anyone ever forget the Prime Minister’s triumphant words? Raine thought grimly. Neville Chamberlain and Herr Hitler had signed an agreement to say the two countries would never go to war with one another again, when now, almost exactly a year later, Chamberlain had told the nation that war had been declared on Germany. It was too terrible to imagine. And yet she understood how Ronnie was feeling. At least we know for sure, she told herself, aware of a frisson of excitement. Surely now she’d be able to put her pilot’s licence to good use.
Raine quietly left the room. She needed to get some air and think what to do next.
Mr Gray, the village air-raid warden, came to the house a few days later to announce that gas masks were being sent to the village hall, and families should come to be fitted and collect theirs the following week.
‘I will not wear anything so ugly,’ Simone declared when she saw the masks lined up on the trestle tables in the village hall next to a pile of cardboard boxes for each one to be carried in.
‘It might save your life, Maman,’ Raine said grimly, trying hers on.
Ugh. The rubber stank and there was a strong smell of disinfectant.
Simone wasn’t the only one muttering. Most of the men seemed to accept that they were a sensible precaution, but several of their wives decided they didn’t like the look of them at all.
‘Keep it on for a few minutes, dear,’ one of the ladies who was helping people with their size said to Raine. ‘It’ll get you used to it.’
Raine didn’t think she could last that long. It was difficult to breathe and the smell was making her feel queasy. After a long minute, she pulled it off and went to the door, drawing in deep gulps of air.
Simone refused even to try it on. She simply took the size the woman recommended her and put it in its cardboard box.
‘I will look at it when I am home,’ she said, but Raine knew she would do nothing of the kind.
‘How are you two getting on?’ Raine asked her sisters.
There were muffled replies and both of them removed theirs.
‘They’re hateful,’ Ronnie said. ‘It’d take a catastrophe for me to wear mine.’
‘That’s the idea,’ Raine said.
Suzanne promptly rushed to the cloakroom and came back white-faced.
‘That was horrible,’ she said. ‘I felt I was suffocating.’
‘Let’s just hope we never have to use them,’ Raine said.
When several weeks went by and still nothing happened, people began to call it a phoney war. They became more casual about keeping their gas masks with them at all times. But as far as Raine was concerned, there was one big difference. There were no more civilian pilots, no more flying clubs. Anyone who was a pilot was serving their country – and that, of course, didn’t include female pilots. She gritted her teeth. Maybe she should join the WAAFs, after all. At least she’d be amongst people she respected and admired. But still something held her back.
She’d finally heard from Doug. He sent her a private letter care of Biggin Hill aerodrome.
28th October 1939
Dear Raine,
I’m so sorry I left so abruptly. You must have wondered what had happened to me. I had a crisis at home and then when I’d got myself back together again there was a war on!
I heard you got your pilot’s licence so my heartiest congratulations. You see I do know a bit of what’s going on even though I’m quite a long way from you at the moment – can’t say where. You’ve probably left Biggin Hill by now and joined the WAAFs. That’s what I wanted to tell you – that I’ve joined up – RAF, of course.
Raine chewed her lip. So Doug was a fighter pilot doing his bit for his country. She prayed he hadn’t been called on to do anything too dangerous. He’d become like a brother to her over the months he’d taught her to fly and she’d been hurt, then worried, when she hadn’t heard anything from him for such a long time. She read on:
I think very fondly of you and I’m so proud of you. We’re bound to meet sooner or later, particularly if you’ve joined the WAAFs as at least you’ll be close to the action.
However I do have something interesting to tell you. A civilian organisation called the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA for short) has just been formed and its function is to ferry aircraft to airfields around the country for the RAF. They’re taking pilots who are too old this time around, or injured from the last war, so not fit for combat but they can still deliver a plane safely. And this is the real news – apparently they’re planning to form a women’s section of experienced pilots. I’ll let you know when I hear anything more.
Write to me if you get the opportunity. Address at top and it will be forwarded to me.
With much affection,
Doug x
Raine read the last part of the letter about the ATA again, her heart practically leaping out of her chest. Here was the reason she hadn’t joined the WAAFs. This ATA was going to admit women pilots! She’d try to find out more about it at work tomorrow. Because if she didn’t get some regular air miles in her log book soon, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She swallowed hard. All she had worked for, all she had dreamed, would be shattered. There had to be a way for this ATA organisation to take her. There simply had to.
Chapter Seven
October 1940
‘Miss Linfoot, please come to my office right away.’
Raine jumped as her desk extension rang. She’d been in her usual reverie, looking out of the window watching planes landing and taking off, longing to be up there with them. At first it had been exciting peering up at the dogfights going on right over her head at Biggin Hill, seeing the RAF boys shooting down the Luftwaffe in what Winston Churchill called the Battle of Britain. But when she’d witnessed her first sight of a Spitfire spiralling down in flames, the pilot having had no chance of baling out, or surviving a ball of fire on impact, she’d immediately thought of Doug. He’d be up there somewhere. If it wasn’t today, it would be tomorrow.
At least she and the family were far enough away not to have suffered like Londoners who had gone through night after night being bombed. Thankfully, Hitler now seemed to have turned his attention elsewhere. Heaven knew in what condition the Luftwaffe had left their beloved capital. And knowing what constant danger Londoners were living in, if anything, made her even more resolute to be part of the action.
Raine had been in the pay section for a year and had become more and more frustrated stuck in an office. Although she’d taken over the role of a fully-fledged pay clerk, she wished for the hundredth time that she’d been born a man. Then she would have been welcomed with open arms as a pilot. It was all so ridiculous. Women were every bit as good as the men. But even the ATA was cautious, it seemed. Doug told her they’d only taken eight very experienced female pilots a few months ago – all of them with several hundred flying hours or more. There was no point yet in applying with her few. He’d suggested she seriously think about joining the WAAFs, but she didn’t want to. She’d have to sign up with them. Commit herself to however many years the war was going to last in a non-flying position and perhaps lose the opportunity of flying with the ATA – what she’d set her heart on. No, she wouldn’t risk it.
But she’d go mad if something didn’t turn up soon. Even Maman had joined the Women’s Voluntary Service and was busy collecting aluminium utensils from friends and neighbours for the war effort. ‘We will turn your pots and pans into Spitfires and Hurricanes, Blenheims and Wellingtons,’ Lord Beaverbrook had recently announced on the wireless, and Maman had jumped up and told the family she would talk to the WVS immediately.
And she had. Raine couldn’t help smiling at the memory of her mother approaching every single family in Downe. Almost every housewife had gladly handed her something aluminium for the war effort, not wanting to be thought of as unpatriotic, especially when faced with a Frenchwoman who was asking so delightfully for her help.
Sighing heavily, Raine picked up the huge aluminium teapot and poured yet another twenty mugs of tea, letting the liquid slosh over the rims without pause. She’d asked for a transfer to one of the other administration departments and was sent to Maintenance Command section under Flight Lieutenant Fox. It had been a bad mistake on her part.
‘Miss Linfoot, are you there? Please answer.’
Foxy’s tone was never a polite request but an order. He was of medium height, stockily built, dark hair slicked back with plenty of Brylcreem. His cocky swagger when he came into the office and his condescending attitude made it obvious that women had no place in the department unless they were behind a typewriter. At least once a day she berated herself for ever having learnt how to type. As for Foxy, she detested working for him. His handwriting was appalling and he always took umbrage when she gave him a letter for signing, having guessed the words and the gist of it as she’d gone along.
‘I didn’t write it like this,’ he growled more than once.
She’d answer that it had read a little ambiguously, so she’d tried to make it clear.
‘Hmm,’ he would grunt, but to her surprise he never insisted she retype it.
That was by no means the worst thing. She’d only been at the job a week when he’d pounced as she was leaving his office. He’d barred her way as she had her hand on the door handle and grabbed her.
She’d twisted her neck away from his repulsive lips. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Come on. You’re no prude. You girls – prick-teasers, all of you, with your pouty red lips and your pussycat bows, forever tossing your hair—’
‘What nonsense!’ Raine’s voice was ice as she pushed her hand hard against his chest. ‘But I am here to do a job without any unpleasantness from anyone.’ She glared at him. ‘So don’t ever touch me again, sir,’ she emphasised with sarcasm, ‘or I’ll report you.’
‘You report me?’ He laughed in her face. ‘The general dogsbody. Who do you think they’d believe – you or me?’ His laugh became a sneer. ‘Make one move in that direction and I’ll have you removed … for good.’
She could only grit her teeth. She’d get nowhere if she threatened him. He was her superior and he could easily make her life a misery. She’d stepped back and made her exit as dignified as she could, knowing his eyes were on her. Since then, he’d always made a point of looking her up and down every time she had to speak to him, but he’d left her alone and she’d hoped that was the end of it.
Now, a fortnight later, he was asking to see her on her own again. With Foxy she realised she’d overstepped the mark in threatening him. But she hadn’t been able to stop herself from trying to frighten the rat. She should have known that threatening such a bully would never have worked. Blowing out her cheeks, Raine picked up her notepad, hoping, praying he only wanted to dictate a letter, although Foxy dictating was as bad as deciphering his writing. He’d march back and forth across the floor, mumbling and gabbling, then would say nothing for a whole minute – just turn and stare at her. She wrinkled her nose as she knocked on his office door.
‘Please, sit down.’
Something in his tone alerted her. He wasn’t about to dictate any letter. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, and studied her. His gaze lowered to her legs, then back up her body to her face. She loathed everything about him – those pinprick cold grey eyes piercing through her, as though sucking out all her problems, laying them bare and grinning at them, but she would not be intimidated. She tried to imagine him naked – she’d read somewhere that it helped when you were in such a situation – and almost giggled at the image dancing in front of her.
‘Have I egg on my chin or something?’
‘What?’ She managed to recover herself. ‘Oh, sorry, sir, I was—’
‘Never mind that,’ he said abruptly. ‘I have something to discuss with you. I understand you’re a qualified pilot.’
Her heart leapt.
‘Yes, sir, I have my licence.’ She couldn’t stop the note of pride that pervaded her answer.
He nodded and picked up a sheet of paper from the top of a pile, his eyes flicking from one side to the other, taking his time.
As though he hasn’t already read it.
‘This letter …’ he waved it in the air, ‘is from the ATA – that is, the Air Transport Auxiliary.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard about it,’ Raine said coolly, though inside her heart was beating fiercely, silently thanking God that Doug had explained who they were.
Foxy gazed at her as though he couldn’t believe she was not some empty-headed slip of a girl. ‘I’ll give you the thrust of it,’ he said, breaking off to wink at her. ‘It’s from a Miss Gower. Apparently, she’s in charge of a ferry pool …’ he rolled his eyes that a woman should be in charge of something so important, ‘and she urgently requires pilots. She’s even asking for women as well as men.’ He stared at Raine. ‘My God, she must be desperate.’
Don’t annoy him, Raine. Let him think he has the upper hand.
‘She needs highly experienced pilots, of course.’
Raine’s heart dropped. She hadn’t flown for nearly a year. But at least this Miss Gower was asking for more women. Those eight female pilots must be doing a good job. It gave her a sudden hope.
‘Does she say how many flying hours … sir?’
Please let me have enough.
He sent her a steely gaze. ‘How many hours do you have, Miss Linfoot?’
‘Twenty-five.’ It was actually nineteen, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
A smirk crossed his thick lips, but he said nothing.
Was her dream about to come true – or be smashed to pieces? He was deliberately keeping her in suspense.
‘How many hours does Miss Gower require?’ Raine asked, her heart beating hard.
Foxy glanced down at the letter again. ‘I’m afraid Miss Gower requires pilots with two hundred and fifty … minimum.’ He sent her a triumphant look. ‘So you only have ten per cent of her requirements.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘I’m afraid we will have to put that idea aside.’ His mouth twisted.
‘But with the war, surely—’
‘I’m afraid there’s no more to be said.’
She could see her chance slipping away before her.
‘Please, sir, if I could—’
He held his hand palm upwards towards her. ‘I’m sorry, but you simply don’t have enough experience. And by the time you increase your hours the war will be over. Without any help from women.’ Before she had time to react, he said, ‘But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.’
The tone had become ominous. Raine deliberately kept her eyes on him, trying to ignore her thudding heart.
‘I’m afraid …’ he paused as though for effect (dear God, if he said he was afraid one more time she would cheerfully throttle him), ‘we no longer require your services at Biggin Hill.’
Her jaw dropped. She hadn’t been prepared for this. His eyes were narrowed in malice. What a nasty little man, enjoying the power he had over her. She could have kicked herself for threatening him. This was his moment of triumph. Her punishment for daring to stand up for herself. Well, she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
‘Doesn’t my time here count for anything?’ she said in as reasonable a tone as she could muster. ‘I’m showing the ropes to a new girl who’s supposed to be helping me now we’re busier, but she has a lot to learn before she can be left on her own. And she can’t possibly do my job and hers.’
‘Miss Rogers is perfectly capable of being left,’ he said in a firm voice. ‘And there is always someone around if she needs advice, or indeed any help. Me, for instance.’ He gave her what passed for a smile. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Linfoot, but I’m giving you notice. You have until the end of the week to hand over all your work to Miss Rogers and explain everything she needs to know. But for now, please give me your key to the filing cabinet. We wouldn’t want any nosy parkers let loose in my office, would we?’
He held out a pasty hand.
Raine could barely hide her fury as she returned to her office. Only Linda Rogers was there, frowning over a stack of files on her desk. She looked up as Raine stormed in.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’
‘Only everything,’ Raine said, biting her lip hard to stop herself from bursting into tears of frustration and anger. She caught Linda’s stare. ‘Foxy’s just given me notice to be out by the end of the week.’
Linda’s eyes widened. ‘Why? What are you supposed to have done?’
‘It seems I’m no longer required. That you’re perfectly capable of doing my job … as well as yours.’
As she was speaking she put the cover over her typewriter and retrieved her handbag that was tucked underneath the desk. She swung it on her shoulder and turned to Linda.
‘Right, then, I’m off. Best of British and all that.’
‘But you said the end of the week.’ Linda came round from her desk. ‘I can’t do the job without your help. And anyway, I don’t want to be stuck in this office on my own with hardly anyone around. When anyone does come in, they just dump stuff on the desk, give me a wink and a smile as though that’s all that’s needed to set me up for the day, then rush off.’
Raine felt sorry for Linda. She’d be leaving the girl on her own to face Foxy every day. But she couldn’t stay in this place a moment longer. Hartman had been abrupt enough, but he wasn’t unfair. And he didn’t make obnoxious passes, either. That was something she wouldn’t stand for.
There was no reason to stay to the end of the week, especially as Doug was no longer here. If only she knew where he’d been sent, but she’d drawn a blank with everyone she’d asked. Foxy would have known, she thought bitterly, but she wouldn’t dream of asking anything of that creep.
‘Sorry, Linda, I don’t want to hang around any longer. I need to decide what to do now. But I’ve enjoyed working with you and wish you all the luck. I mean it.’ She turned towards the door.
‘Raine, wait a minute …’
There was an urgency in Linda’s tone that made her stop.
‘Can we go to the NAAFI and have a cuppa?’ Linda said. ‘I need to talk to you about something, and I also want to know the reason why Foxy has sacked you.’
Raine hesitated, the image of Foxy’s eyes roving over her legs. Maybe she should warn Linda that he had a lecherous streak so the girl was prepared. Linda might only be seventeen but she was as well developed as any woman.
‘All right,’ Raine said. ‘I could do with one – and maybe treat us to a bun,’ she added with a thin smile.
They walked companionably but silently to the canteen and took their trays to a table in the corner.
‘I detest that Foxy,’ Linda blurted as soon as they sat down. Her eyes shone with indignation. ‘Whenever you’re out of the room he comes in and hangs over me when he asks me to type a letter. His hair oil stinks. It makes me feel sick. And yesterday when you went to the Ladies’ he came up behind me and put his hands on my breasts and told me to keep quiet or he’d get rid of me. He’s tried to touch me before but always pretended it was accidental. This time, there was no mistake – it was deliberate. With you not around he’ll be even worse.’ She looked at Raine, her eyes beseeching. ‘I need my job, Raine, and he knows it.’
So this was what Foxy giving her notice was all about. He wanted full access to Linda without Raine curtailing him. What a pig! This was far more serious than she’d imagined.
‘He tried it on with me when he first came to the section,’ Raine said.
Linda’s eyes were wide. ‘What did you do?’
‘Threatened to report him. And didn’t I pay for it … with my job.’ She looked at Linda. ‘What did you say to him?’
Linda swallowed some tea. ‘I asked him to please stop, but he gave them a quick pinch, which really hurt ’cos I had the curse, and just laughed.’
‘The filthy beast. I wish you’d told me earlier.’
Linda shook her head ‘What was the good? I wanted to forget it. But I feel sick every time I see him.’
‘Let me think for a minute.’ Raine spread some margarine on her bun and took a bite. ‘Ugh. I’ll never get used to marg. And now they’ve rationed that as well as butter.’ She scraped it off, then took another bite, slowly chewing, savouring the spicy flavour, all the while with Linda’s anxious face in front of her. Then she smiled. ‘I always think better with a currant bun.’
She noticed Linda hadn’t touched hers.
‘Okay, Linda,’ Raine said after a minute or two. ‘I have a plan. I’ll help you if you’ll help me.’
‘Anything,’ Linda breathed.
‘First of all, I’ll stay until the end of the week. It’s only four more days but we have things to do.’
The next morning when Flight Lieutenant Fox put his head in the door Raine was quietly at her desk working.
‘I’m pleased you’re conscientious about doing a proper day’s work in light of our conversation, Miss Linfoot,’ he said.
Raine looked up, keeping her expression neutral. ‘I couldn’t do anything else, sir.’ As he turned to go she crossed her fingers that Linda was keeping a cool head.
Half an hour later Linda came in, a grin plastered over her face, her thumb up.
Raine stopped typing. ‘You managed it, then?’
‘Yes. I asked him if he had any letters to dictate. I could see the letter you’re talking about already in the filing tray. So I picked up the files with the letter on the top and asked what I should write back. He told me to ignore it. “Not worth a reply,” he said. “We don’t have anyone here who would be suitable.”’
Raine clenched her fists. ‘Then what?’
‘As soon as he went out I copied the address. I have it here.’ She took a folded piece of scrap paper from her pocket and handed it to Raine. ‘Then I filed everything in the tray, including the letter which I put in a new file I made up called ATA, as I would have done normally.’
‘You don’t know what this means to me, Linda.’ Raine opened her bag and quickly tucked the scrap of paper inside the little pocket where she kept her mirror. ‘Miss Gower asked for a pilot with more experience than me, but I’m going to write to her anyway. Even if she puts me on a list. That way, if I can increase my hours I can approach her again.’ She glanced at Linda. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’