A SISTER’S WAR
Molly Green

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

Copyright © Molly Green 2021

Cover design by Stephen Mulcahey © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2021

Cover photographs © CollaborationJS (figure), Shutterstock.com (background)

Molly Green asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008332501

Ebook Edition © March 2021 ISBN: 9780008332518

Version: 2021-02-09

Dedication

To my dear sister, Carole Ann, who for two pins would live on a narrow boat!

To all the women and girls who worked on the Grand Union Canal Carrying Company Ltd during the Second World War, taking their narrowboats filled with cargo such as wool, steel, coal, timber, cement, sand, iron, shells for explosives, and even dates used for sauce (!) on scores of trips from London to Birmingham and back.

In 1948 they were finally acknowledged for their valuable contribution in the war and given badges with the initials IW (Inland Waterways), and thereafter jokingly became known as the Idle Women. Nothing could be further from the truth!

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

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

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Acknowledgements

Reading List

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Molly Green

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Downe, near Bromley, Kent October 1943

The lights dimmed in the cinema until the auditorium went dark. The chattering audience stopped with one accord. All Ronnie could see was the swirl of cigarette smoke and the silhouette of the heads and women’s hats in the rows in front of her. She felt her friend, Lois, give her a nudge.

‘Not long now ’til the film.’ Lois was breathless with excitement.

‘It’s Pathé News first,’ Ronnie whispered.

‘That’s the bit I hate. It’s always more bad news. I just came to see the main film.’ Lois pulled a small bag of boiled sweets from her handbag and handed one to Ronnie. ‘Joan Crawford is my favourite. She always plays good parts – makes mincemeat of the men.’ She gave a giggle.

‘Shhhh!’ A man with a large head, and boxer’s shoulders, who was sitting in front of them, half turned, waving his hand towards her. ‘Some of us would like to hear the news.’

Ronnie recoiled. ‘It hasn’t actually started yet,’ she said, feeling a rise of annoyance.

‘This is Pathé News.’ The newsreader’s voice cut across any further argument. ‘Today, the 13th October, Italy has declared war on Nazi Germany, just one month after Italy surrendered to the Allies.’

The audience sent up a roar of approval and several people clapped, Ronnie and Lois amongst them.

‘Best news we’ve heard for ages,’ Lois said, turning to Ronnie. The light from the cinema screen showed her eyes dancing with excitement.

The newsreader continued a few moments longer and then switched subjects.

‘Women and girls are taking over more and more of the men’s jobs. Here are some of the girls in the Land Army doing a marvellous job keeping food on our tables … just look at this young lady actually driving a tractor!’ The newsreader’s voice rose in disbelief. ‘These girls are certainly wearing the trousers.’

There were a few male chuckles. One man in the audience called out, ‘Not in my house, they’re not.’ More laughter.

Ronnie watched the film intently. Three Land Girls dressed in jodhpurs, their jumpers tucked into their waists and belted, were working on a farm. Ronnie immediately slumped back in her seat. She’d applied three weeks ago to join the Land Army – actually, three weeks and two days to be precise – convinced they would grab her. Several posters she’d seen pinned up in the library and the village hall hoping to persuade girls to join, especially one colourful poster, had really caught her eye. It showed a smiling Land Girl with dark curly hair, a little longer but not unlike her own, her hand resting on a horse’s neck, and an amiable pipe-smoking farmer looking on. The message along the top of the poster read: ‘We could do with thousands more like you …’ and underneath the picture was a yellow banner with black writing: Join the Women’s Land Army.

She’d dashed home, breathless with excitement that her chance had come, and filled in the application form without telling her mother. What would have been the point? Ronnie had mentioned it a couple of times to her sisters and although Raine and Suzy had cautioned her about the hard, monotonous work, which didn’t worry Ronnie one jot, Maman had shot her idea down in flames. She couldn’t bear the idea that one of her daughters had dirty, broken fingernails and wore men’s clothes while working on the vegetable plot at home, let alone milking cows and mucking out sheds for some unknown farmer.

Every morning when she’d heard Micky, the postboy, rattle the letterbox, Ronnie had flown downstairs, followed by an exuberant Rusty barking his head off. This morning she’d been certain that today would be the day she’d hear. But there had been nothing … until the second post at noon.

‘Chérie, you have a letter in the front room on the mantelpiece,’ Maman had said, leaning over the banister when Ronnie had come in from tending the vegetable plot. ‘It came a few minutes ago. I will be down in one minute so do not open it until I am there with you. We will read it together.’

Ronnie’s heart gave a flip. It must be about the Land Army. And Maman was trying to take control as usual. Ronnie set her jaw. She was almost seventeen – perfectly old enough to open her own letters. She’d wanted to be indoors before the noon post came for this very reason but Rusty had begged her to take him for a walk, the way he’d looked at her with his warm, brown, beseeching eyes.

Please don’t come downstairs before I’ve read it on my own, Maman.

‘Come on, Rusty. I’ll allow you to read it with me.’

Rusty followed her into the front room, his claws making a clicking sound on the hall lino.

Ronnie grabbed the long envelope tucked behind one of a pair of silver candlesticks, a remnant of the old life they’d had before Dad had lost a lot of money and gone into debt. Probably one of the reasons why he’d died so suddenly at only sixty, she thought grimly. He’d always tried to keep up with Maman’s demands and standards. Ronnie’s heart squeezed at the thought of her dearest dad and the stress it must have given him when he realised what he’d brought upon the family.

All this was racing through her head as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet. She glanced at the heading. She was right. It was from the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries; the Land Army came under their umbrella. Heart beating in her ears she read:

Dear Miss Linfoot,

We thank you for your application form to join the Land Army but regret—

Ronnie broke off reading. Regret? Surely … Biting her lip and willing herself to go on, she continued:

… but regret we must on this occasion turn down your application. Our minimum age is seventeen and a half, and you are not yet seventeen. This is because the work is often heavy, having been carried out by the men before war was declared. However, we are encouraged by your enthusiasm and hope that in a year’s time you will apply again, whereupon we would expect you to be successful.

Thank you for your interest.

Yours sincerely,

Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries

Ronnie was disgusted to see that the person who’d written the letter hadn’t even had the courtesy to sign it.

‘You are reading your letter without me,’ Maman said, sweeping into the room in her usual style of a Thirties’ actress. ‘Did you not hear me?’ For once, she didn’t ask Ronnie to remove ‘that dog’.

Ronnie shoved the letter back into the envelope, her eyes stinging with anger. The war would be over by the time she reapplied.

‘Yes, I heard you – but, Maman, it’s addressed to me. I should be allowed to open my own post.’

‘Who is it from?’

‘No one important.’

‘Let me look.’ Simone stretched her hand out.

Ronnie was on the brink of refusing to give it to her. But what difference did it make? She hadn’t been offered an interview and she’d already told her mother she wasn’t going back to school. She wasn’t brainy like Raine, or musical like Suzy, and didn’t see the need for two more years of mathematics and history and French and all the other subjects she wasn’t good at. But she always got top marks in biology and natural history. She knew she had a way with animals and was happiest when outdoors. The Land Army would have given her all those things. Now her hopes were in pieces.

Sulkily, she handed over the envelope.

Simone pursed her lips as she read the letter. Then she looked up. Ronnie noticed a gleam in her mother’s eyes.

‘Chérie, I do not like that you go behind my back to write to these people. We have already discussed this. Winter will come soon and I will not have my daughter digging up turnips. What would people say? They will think we are in poverty. What would your father say if he was here? He would be angry that I allow such a thing. So I am very happy they will not take you. This will be the end of the conversation, even when you are of the right age. You will find a worthwhile job or I will send you back to school.’

Simone had torn the letter into pieces and thrown them on the unlit fire.

Still bristling with Maman’s unfair dismissal of the Land Army earlier that day, Ronnie was brought back to Pathé News with the newsreader’s latest clip.

‘Yes, women and girls are working in the munitions factories … Here they are, cheerfully changing into boiler suits and rubber shoes, wearing gloves and masks as protection against poison and dangerous fumes from the explosive material … Here’s one of the girls filling the exploder and finishing the shells. If it wasn’t for the fair sex performing what was once considered men’s work, there wouldn’t be enough ammunition to send to our boys in the fields. We couldn’t carry on the fight. That’s how important this work is.’

I’d hate it. Ronnie pulled a face in the darkness. Having to repeat the same movements hour after hour, day after day, cooped up in a room with constant clanging and clattering above the chatter of the girls. It was a wonder they weren’t all deafened with the row. Besides, it was obviously dangerous to be amongst all those poisonous fumes, mask or no mask. But I do admire them, she thought. They’re getting on with it – and doing their bit for the war effort. And that’s what I need to get cracking with.

‘… and women and girls are even working on the canals, some of them as young as seventeen, taking critical supplies from London to Birmingham and back again on the Grand Union Canal. They work together in threes, from all walks of life. Here’s one group in charge of a seventy-foot canal boat with a second boat being towed behind, both of them carrying the cargo. It’s a hard, dirty, backbreaking job but these girls are putting their backs into it and look fit and healthy working outside all day …’

Ronnie sat bolt upright, staring hard at the screen. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but they were tying two boats together, working as a team. One of them, a pretty girl with a cap perched on her blonde curls, looked up and smiled and waved at the camera. The good thing was that they didn’t appear to be wearing any kind of uniform, Ronnie noticed, although they all wore trousers. How sensible.

She was barely aware of the other news. And when the film, Above Suspicion – a wartime drama that hadn’t really appealed, but Lois had gone on and on about it until she’d finally agreed to go with her – eventually came on, Ronnie scarcely paid any attention. Watching a far-fetched story about a honeymooning couple in Europe being asked to spy on the Nazis for the British intelligence, and Joan Crawford, the bride, looking ever more glamorous in every scene, didn’t ring true. It all looked so artificial against the horrors she’d seen so many times on Pathé News of the brave boys, many whose lives were being snuffed out before they’d even properly begun to live, or so horribly injured and disfigured they’d never lead a normal life again. Co-star, heartthrob Fred MacMurray, didn’t accelerate Ronnie’s heartbeat one scrap. No, what was making her heart thump so hard she felt it might burst through her chest was the thought of doing something worthwhile – something she’d be good at.

She’d never been on a boat, but what did that matter? She knew as sure as Lois was sitting next to her that working on the canals would not only be exciting but would be her contribution. She grew more and more convinced as she continued to let the sound of the film roll over her. If she was being grand, she’d say it was her destiny.

But how would she talk Maman round to giving her permission?

Chapter Two

‘I wanted to see the Joan Crawford film,’ were Maman’s first words to greet Ronnie when she arrived home. ‘I would have come with you if it was not for this cold.’ She sniffed and blew her nose. ‘Will you make your maman a cup of cocoa, chérie, and then you must tell me all about it. I want to hear the clothes she wore.’ She gave a violent sneeze.

Ronnie inwardly groaned. She busied herself in the kitchen, spooning out the cocoa in two cups, waiting for the milk to boil, all the while wondering how to approach her mother about working on the canals. Maman would think it even worse than joining the Land Army. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she couldn’t stop the milk from suddenly bubbling up and frothing over the side of the saucepan.

‘Damn,’ she said aloud, turning off the gas and grabbing a dishcloth to wipe up the liquid. She’d used up all the milk and half of it had spilled over. Thank goodness they could rely on the milkman doing his early morning rounds. No matter how much her mother grumbled about the English insisting on tea first thing, she would be most upset if Ronnie didn’t bring her a cup. Sighing, she boiled the kettle, then poured the remains of the milk over the two cups and topped them up with boiling water. She stirred half a teaspoon of sugar into her mother’s cup, then found two mismatching saucers. The cups didn’t quite fit into the shallow indents but they would have to do.

‘Véronique, where is my cocoa?’

Her mother’s plaintive voice floated along the hallway, as Ronnie took the hot drinks into the front room.

‘What has taken you so long?’ Simone demanded, taking the cup and saucer from her. The cup wobbled and overturned, spilling the contents over her dressing gown. She screamed and shot up, letting both the cup and saucer fall to the rug.

‘Oh, Maman, I’m sorry. I’ll get a cloth,’ Ronnie said and rushed to the kitchen for a towel and a bowl of cold water, all the time swearing under her breath, as she doubled back.

‘Here, Maman, let me mop it up. Did it burn your legs?’

‘Of course it did, child. It was boiling hot.’

‘Let me soak them with cold water. That’s what we were told in St John’s Ambulance. It will stop it blistering.’

‘I will bathe myself upstairs,’ her mother said. ‘You know, Véronique, I worry about you. This would not have happened if you took the trouble to keep to the standard I have always set.’ She stooped to pick up the offending cup and saucer. ‘Look’ – she tapped the saucer – ‘this is not the correct one for this cup so it did not fit securely. That is why there was an accident. As if my cold is not enough to cope with—’

‘Maman, I’m truly sorry,’ Ronnie cut in. ‘Please go and soak the tops of your legs with cold water.’

Simone shook her head at Ronnie and pursed her lips. She walked out without another word, leaving Ronnie feeling guilty that she couldn’t match up to her mother’s high expectations. But then, Raine, her eldest sister, never had, either. And look what she was doing now – a ferry pilot in the Air Transport Auxiliary, delivering the planes to the boys in combat. And Suzy had been abroad and was now touring the country with ENSA. Ronnie couldn’t remember what the letters stood for, but it was some sort of entertainment organisation that Vera Lynn belonged to, and Suzy was singing to the troops. Both her sisters had defied Maman, and that seemed to be the reason her mother was clinging on to her, the youngest daughter. It really was unfair.

She waited for a few minutes but there was no sound from upstairs except a bark or two from Rusty wanting to be let out of her bedroom. She’d better go and see if her mother was all right.

Ronnie ran up the stairs but no one was in the bathroom. She knocked on her mother’s bedroom door.

‘Entre.’

Simone was brushing her hair at the dressing table mirror.

‘Did the cocoa leave a burn mark, Maman?’

Simone turned and pulled up her nightdress, showing her shapely legs.

Ronnie stepped closer and saw a red blotch on top of her mother’s right thigh. She pushed down the spike of guilt.

‘I really am sorry, Maman, but at least it hasn’t blistered so I think you caught it in time.’

Her mother rose from the stool.

‘I am going to bed,’ she said coolly. ‘I am not at all well. You will come and see me in the morning with some tea in a cup with a matching saucer.’

Oh, dear. If her mother was being this difficult over a minor accident, she wasn’t going to be in the right mood to talk about working on a canal boat. But at least it had taken Maman’s mind off Joan Crawford’s extravagant outfits that Ronnie couldn’t for the life of her bring even one to mind.

She set her jaw. Whatever Maman said, she was determined she was going to join the canal company. But how to find out about it. Who to write to. That was the problem.

It was only the next morning when Ronnie took Rusty for a walk that she thought of looking in the library for information. She made her way to the one in the village but all they had were leaflets advertising the military forces for men and women. And that was something she definitely didn’t want to do. Like her sisters, she knew she’d hate all that marching and saluting and being shouted at. But Miss Jones, the elderly spinster on the counter, didn’t know anything about working on the Grand Union Canal.

‘Bromley library might be able to help you, dear,’ she said, looking forlorn. ‘Oh, I do dislike it if I can’t be of any help.’

‘I’ll try there … and thank you. You have been a help.’

‘We’re going to get my bicycle, Rusty,’ she told the dog, who gave her a bark of what she fondly decided was wholehearted agreement. He’d turned out to be the sweetest, most intelligent animal. When Ronnie had rescued him he’d been a pitiful creature, his ribs sticking through his mangy coat, shaking with terror in the kind ARP warden’s arms. As soon as Ronnie had taken him she’d named him Rusty for his tan-coloured but filthy ears and a few brown spots on his equally dirty coat. When Maman had set eyes on him she’d had a fit and said Ronnie had to put a notice up in the village shop to say he’d been found. No one had claimed him and somehow he’d worked his doggie way into … well, Ronnie wouldn’t go so far as to say into Maman’s heart, but at least her mother now seemed to tolerate him.

Hoping her mother wouldn’t be home and demand to know where she was going, Ronnie sneaked into the shed and wheeled out the heavy old bicycle. She picked up the dog and set him in the shopping-sized wicker basket at the front.

‘You only just fit in now you’ve put on some weight,’ she said, laughing at him, his body squashed, his tongue hanging out with pure joy that he was off on an adventure with his mistress. ‘We’re going to Bromley library, Rusty. Their library might have some more government leaflets.’

But the elderly volunteer at the counter didn’t seem to know what she was talking about either.

‘I’ll ask the librarian for you,’ she said, her whisper almost a hiss through her buck teeth as she bent her grey head towards Ronnie.

With all the notices around warning, ‘Strictly no talking’, Ronnie could see the woman took her position as library helper very seriously. She managed to suppress a giggle.

‘Miss Lidbetter will know. Wait here, dear. I won’t be a moment.’

Several minutes later Ronnie was losing patience. But the helper was back with a short stocky woman, her greying auburn hair pinned into a bun – presumably it was Miss Lidbetter.

‘Good morning, dear. Miss Ball tells me you are asking for information on girls working on the canals.’

Ronnie surreptitiously glanced behind her, sure that Maman would spring out of the shadows and confront her.

‘Yes, I saw a news clip at the cinema yesterday evening,’ she said. ‘It was about girls like me taking cargo from London to Birmingham and back again. I’d like to apply but they didn’t say how to do it.’

‘I wouldn’t think you were old enough to take part in something like that,’ Miss Lidbetter said, studying Ronnie intently.

‘I’m seventeen,’ Ronnie said, crossing her fingers behind her back, ‘and the man on Pathé News said some of the girls were my age.’

‘Hmm.’ Miss Lidbetter pursed her plump lips. ‘What do your parents say about this?’

What would Dad have said? She had no idea. But she knew exactly what to expect from Maman.

‘Oh, they know I’m looking into it, but there’s nothing definite yet,’ Ronnie said, squeezing her fingers more tightly together.

Miss Lidbetter sighed. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in your writing to them,’ she said eventually. ‘Then it will be down to your parents as to whether they give their permission.’

Ronnie sent what she hoped was a sweet smile in Miss Lidbetter’s direction. She tapped her foot while the librarian took her time rifling through a box of cards and finally pulled one out. She peered at it, then looked at Ronnie over the top of her glasses.

‘I believe you need to write to the Ministry of War Transport, dear. Would you like me to jot down the address?’

‘Oh, that would be marvellous … thank you.’

The librarian adjusted the comb at the side of her bun that was on the verge of falling out and took the pencil the helper offered. She wrote the address on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Ronnie.

‘Be sure to listen to your parents when making a decision of this nature,’ she said. ‘You’d be doing a man’s job and you’re just a young girl. It’s not to be taken lightly.’

‘I’m really grateful, Miss Lidbetter,’ Ronnie said, tucking the precious piece of paper into her coat pocket, desperate to make her escape.

‘Are there any books you need today, dear?’

‘Oh, no, not at the moment.’ Ronnie smiled. ‘I’d better go. I’ve tied my dog up outside and he’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’

She didn’t bother to inform Miss Lidbetter that the real truth was that it would be Maman she’d have to face when she got home – who would ask why had she been so long – not Rusty.

Ronnie wasted no time in writing a letter to the Ministry of War Transport, explaining that she’d seen a newsreel on Pathé News which had inspired her to apply for a position on the canal boats to haul cargo. Now she’d have to wait for a reply. It seemed as though she was always waiting. Surely this time she’d get the answer she was looking for.

And this time she wouldn’t let Maman come anywhere near it.

It was three weeks later when Micky turned up with the post at seven in the morning. Ronnie was up and dressed and had seen him walk up the path, but she’d given up now on the Ministry of Transport.

‘Morning, Micky. What have you got for us?’

‘One for your mother from that pilot sister of yours.’

Ronnie hid a smile, imagining how annoyed Maman would have been if she’d opened the door to the postboy who loved commenting on everyone’s letters. She glanced at the envelope. Yes, it was Raine’s large looping writing.

‘Anything else?’

‘Nah.’

The last flicker of hope died.

Then Micky glanced at the pile of envelopes in his hand, tightly bound together by an elastic band. ‘Oh, yes, sorry. One other. For you.’ He looked up. ‘It’s typed,’ he added as he handed her a long envelope, then hopped onto his bike.

‘Thanks, Micky,’ she called after him, but he just pulled his cap off and still with his back to her, put his hand up in the air and waved as he pedalled off.

She’d only been indoors long enough to put the kettle on when Maman called downstairs.

‘Véronique, please bring my post up to my room with my tea.’

Assuring Rusty she’d be down soon to give him his breakfast, Ronnie took the tray upstairs with the two letters. But first she went to her own room and tucked the typed envelope under her pillow, then picked up the tray again and knocked on her mother’s door.

‘Entre, chérie,’ Simone called.

‘Ah, the English cup of tea for all evils.’ Simone was sitting up in bed expectantly, her hair groomed, her make-up on, and wearing a white fluffy bed-jacket, looking for all the world like an actress who was waiting for the newspapers to be delivered giving the reviews of her successful first night.

‘I think you mean “ills”, Maman.’ Her mother’s eyes narrowed. She hated to be corrected on her English. ‘I’d bring you coffee if it wasn’t so scarce,’ Ronnie went on, ‘although there’s Camp if you’d prefer it to tea.’

‘Do not even use that word to me.’ Simone grimaced unattractively. ‘Camp! How can the manufacturers even pretend it is like coffee. It is more unlike coffee than any drink I can imagine.’

Ronnie laughed. ‘You’d better drink your tea then. And I have a letter from Lorraine for you.’ She used Raine’s full name on purpose. She mustn’t allow anything to put Maman in a difficult mood.

‘It will be for both of us, so hand me my letter-opener and come and sit by me. I will read it to you.’

Simone took the letter and carefully slit it open.

‘Dear Maman and Ronnie’ – Simone stopped and gave a deep sigh. ‘I so wish—’

‘Maman, you won’t stop her using “Ronnie”. Besides, I prefer it. Come on, I want to hear what Lorraine’s been doing.’

Simone shook her head but carried on reading:

‘I hope this finds you both well. I’m busy as usual but at least the pilot I’ve been filling in for is now back at work which has taken off some of the pressure. I have managed to get a decent sleep for the last two nights. But you know I’m not complaining – I love every minute of my job and still consider myself incredibly lucky.

‘Our American pilot, Dolores, brought us some luxury items from one of the American bases (as they call them) and she always shares everything with us. I now have two pairs of silk stockings – yes, two whole pairs! – a box of chocolates and a bar of soap smelling of roses just for me and a huge tin of biscuits she calls cookies for all of us. What a generous girl.

‘You will remember Stephanie who I invited for Christmas last year— Simone broke off and looked up. ‘Yes, I liked her, but I thought she was sad.’

‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’ Ronnie said anxiously.

Simone bent her head again, then smiled. ‘She is very much all right. It seems she has a nice boyfriend – although unfortunately he is another pilot.’

‘It must be difficult meeting men who aren’t pilots in that sort of place,’ Ronnie said.

‘Hmm. Now, where was I?’

‘Stephanie’s boyfriend.’

‘Oh, yes. Lorraine does not give any other details. Now she is talking of Miss Gower.’

‘That’s Raine’s boss,’ Ronnie said. ‘What does she say?’

Simone cleared her throat.

‘We women pilots have had some incredible news from Pauline Gower. She’s been telling the powers that be in the ATA that we take exactly the same risks as the men, work just as hard, and fly just as many different planes, yet we are paid a third lower in wages. After much arguing and persuasion they have actually agreed we are to have equal pay to the men! It’s not even the money so much as the acknowledgement that we’re every bit as good!’

Simone pursed her lips. ‘What is she saying – “it is not even the money”?’

‘I know exactly what she means,’ Ronnie interrupted. ‘It’s the principle of the thing. And the women have finally won!’ She jumped up from the bedside chair and clapped her hands. ‘Good for Miss Gower. Is there anything more?’

‘Non, just she sends her love to us and not to worry … she is fine. As if I can stop from worrying.’

‘She’s happy, Maman, and really that’s all that matters.’ She smiled at her mother but Simone didn’t smile back. ‘I’ll leave you to get dressed while I put the porridge on.’

‘Give me twenty minutes, please,’ Simone said, draining her cup.

Ronnie decided not to risk Maman bursting into her bedroom, demanding to see this particular letter and tearing it to shreds, so she retrieved it from under her pillow and ran down the stairs, Rusty flying after her, for once not barking. Outside, she unbolted the shed and perching on an upturned crate, ripped open the envelope. The heading in capitals and underlined was: MINISTRY OF WAR TRANSPORT. Her heart began to pound. She skimmed through the two-page letter trying to see if they’d accepted her, but she couldn’t tell so she took in a deep breath and read more slowly from the beginning:

Dear Miss Linfoot,

Re: Training Scheme for Women

Thank you for your letter. The training scheme for women is as follows:-

Training takes at least 8 weeks where you will learn to manage a pair of boats – the motorboat and the butty and how to load and unload cargo etc., as well as rudimentary training on care of the engine. You will live on the boats which will carry the cargo along the Grand Union Canal from London to Birmingham and back.

During training you will be paid £2 per week but you must pay for your own food, national insurance and all personal expenses. You should bring your ration books so we can arrange to issue Emergency Coupons. You may then make purchases in any part of the country. When you are able to operate the boats you will be allotted your own pair of boats working together with two other women.

After training, earnings of around £10 per week must be shared by the three crew members. This figure may vary according to the cargo and distance travelled etc. and will depend upon each member’s effort.

When you have completed two trips – usually around three weeks each – you may take three days off unpaid. The more trips you make, the more days you may take (unpaid). After a year you will be paid one week’s leave, and the same thereafter.

We must stress that you should be fit and healthy as you will be working long hours over a seven-day week.

If you are still interested in this vital war work, and are at least 17 years of age, then we will arrange for you to come for an interview at our offices.

Yours sincerely,

D. Hunter (Mrs)

Supervisor

Grand Union Canal Carrying Co.

They hadn’t turned her down! She hadn’t stated her age so she’d have to take a chance they wouldn’t ask for her birth certificate. After all, she’d be seventeen in December – only two months away. With a shiver of excitement she tucked the letter back into its envelope. She’d write back immediately. Then when they gave her a date to attend the interview, only then would she tell Maman her plans.

There was one problem even more insurmountable than Maman – and that was Rusty. Maman would never agree in a million years to look after him. She wondered if she could somehow smuggle him onto the boat. She read the letter again. There was no mention of not being able to take a dog aboard and she’d seen dogs on boats when she’d cycled to Keston Common with Rusty in the front basket. They’d always looked perfectly happy. She was sure Rusty would be thrilled to accompany her – and Maman would be delighted to be rid of him.

But would whoever was in charge of the training allow it?

Chapter Three

At the vet’s the following Saturday where Ronnie helped out and earned some useful pocket money, she stood on the opposite side of the table to Mr Lincoln. He was having to put down a perfectly healthy dog because the owner, an elderly lady, said she was no longer able to feed it. She hardly had enough income to keep herself together, she’d said, her chin trembling as she left the mongrel to his destiny.

If she didn’t already have Rusty, Ronnie would have immediately taken the little dog home, but the thought of Maman’s anger stopped her. Ronnie swallowed hard. This would have been Rusty’s fate if she hadn’t rescued him, and he’d been in a dreadful condition compared to this boy. She vowed never to witness something like that again. She’d have to confess to Mr Lincoln that she wasn’t cut out for this kind of work after all. Not that she was squeamish at assisting the vet with the most gory operations. She rose to the challenge just as she knew Mr Lincoln did. And the glow of happiness she felt every time an animal recovered and was back with its owner was all the reward she would ever want. She loved how Mr Lincoln would celebrate a job well done by making her a cup of tea instead of the other way round, and adding a finger of Kit-Kat in the saucer. But poor Oscar being lethally injected after looking up at her with such trusting eyes just moments ago sickened her.

She gulped back her tears and turned to blow her nose.

‘I hated doing that,’ Mr Lincoln said with a sigh. ‘Bad enough having four injured pets brought in yesterday evening, caused by a couple of ignorant youths throwing fireworks at them.’ He shook his head in disbelief.

‘Maman thought it was a bombing raid,’ Ronnie said. ‘I must say, Rusty shook with terror every time a banger exploded.’

‘If only the owners would keep their animals in on Guy Fawkes night,’ Mr Lincoln said. He listened to Oscar’s heart, then looked up. ‘He’s gone.’

Ronnie bit down hard on her lip. She mustn’t cry. It wouldn’t bring Oscar back.

‘This war is having such bad consequences on the animal kingdom. I would have taken the little fellow home with me if I hadn’t already taken in two poor little blighters in the last three months. And I tried for a week to find a home for this one.’

‘I know you did your best,’ Ronnie said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she gazed down at the young dog, now perfectly still.

The vet gently picked him up. ‘Let me just take Oscar next door.’

He was back in moments and went to the sink to wash his hands. He turned to her, drying his hands on the nearby roller towel.

‘You have a real way with animals, Ronnie, the way you comfort the animals when they’re in distress. So I have a proposition for you. How about you coming to work for me as my full-time assistant? I’d train you with the idea of putting you forward to take an exam to obtain a proper veterinary nursing qualification.’

Ronnie startled. This was totally unexpected. A proper job with a certificate at the end. One that even Maman might approve of. And she liked and trusted Mr Lincoln. He was a pleasure to work with and she loved his wry humour. She wanted to say yes immediately. She would have jumped at the chance if they weren’t in the middle of this blasted war. But was she being weak? She always prided herself on being a strong person who didn’t turn away from something unpalatable. Then she thought of Oscar. She knew she wouldn’t be able to face the needless destruction of animals day after day as a result of the strict food rationing. But it would be even worse for the animals if there weren’t kind vets like Mr Lincoln who carried out the senseless deed with tender-hearted feeling. Thank goodness he hadn’t ever turned his back.

‘What do you think, Ronnie? Does it appeal?’

‘Yes, it does – in many ways,’ she said truthfully. ‘You know I really wanted to join the Land Army. When the war started I loved digging our vegetable plots at home and seeing everything grow. They taste wonderful. It’s something I’m good at and I don’t even mind weeding. But the Land Army won’t have me. It’s so ridiculous. You have to be seventeen and a half, and I’m not seventeen until December. So for the sake of a few months they’ve turned me down. They said to apply again in a year and I was bound to be successful, but the war will probably be over with by then and I won’t have done my bit.’

‘I doubt very much that the war will be over within the year,’ Mr Lincoln said, ‘but you’re obviously looking for more of an outdoor life.’ She nodded. ‘Well, I can see why the Land Army would have appealed but you’re going to have difficulty getting in anywhere at your young age. So why don’t you think about working here.’ He smiled. ‘There’s no need to come back to me with an answer straightaway. Take your time. It’s a big decision.’

Ronnie took in a breath. She could confide in Mr Lincoln. He would never repeat anything she said in confidence.

‘There is another possibility,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an interview next week with the Grand Union Canal Carrying Company.’

Mr Lincoln raised his brows. ‘Working on the canals? My goodness, Ronnie, that’s backbreaking work. Mind you, I think you’re physically strong and you’re a most determined young lady, so you’ll probably survive – maybe even enjoy it.’ He took his glasses off and studied her. ‘Well, I’m disappointed if that’s your decision, but if you need a reference, I’ll be more than happy to provide one.’

‘Thank you, Mr Lincoln. That’s kind of you.’ She paused. ‘There is one thing. My dog, Rusty. Do you think I’ll be able to take him with me on the canal?’

‘As far as Rusty’s concerned, he’d love it,’ Mr Lincoln smiled, ‘but you’ll have to ask permission at the interview. On second thoughts it’s probably better to wait and see how you settle in first in case it doesn’t turn out how you think it will.’ He paused. ‘I’ll be sorry to lose you, Ronnie. When the war’s over I hope you’ll consider my offer – that is, if I haven’t got someone permanent by then.’ He chuckled. ‘But I don’t suppose they’ll be queuing up. It’s not an easy option here for a young person.’

‘But I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it – except today with poor Oscar,’ Ronnie said, hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mistake by pursuing the canal work. ‘And if the canal people don’t take me on, I would love to come and work for you.’

The doorbell sounded.

‘That’ll be Mrs King with her poorly hamster. At least with his diet he’s safe enough.’ Mr Lincoln gave a rueful smile as he laid an old but spotlessly clean white pillowcase on the table. ‘Can you bring her and Hammy in, please, Ronnie?’

Ronnie mentally counted the days to her interview. Only six more. How on earth was she going to tell her mother she was going to London? Maman would forbid her to go. London is too dangerous, she’d say. You don’t know London. You’ve never been there. And most definitely I will not allow you to go on your own. And why would you want to, anyway? Her mother would insist upon accompanying her. Worse than that, it wouldn’t end there. Maman wouldn’t rest until she’d ferreted out the reason for her daughter’s sudden desire to go to London and would be watching her from now on. Ronnie shook her head. No, it was impossible.

And then it came to her. She would say she was meeting Raine. Better still, if Raine could really get a few hours off and go to Southall with her, then Maman couldn’t accuse her of telling a lie.

‘Beatrice Mortimer has invited me for a real cup of coffee,’ Maman said when Ronnie walked through the door after attending to the vegetables, ‘but I will be back for lunch. I have made a soup. Please have the table laid ready and slice some bread.’

Ronnie wrinkled her nose. Her mother wasn’t best known for her soups – or any of her cooking, for that matter. But at least she’d have the house to herself and could telephone her sister in private.

‘All right, Maman. Tell her I said “hello”.’

The front door shut. All was wonderfully silent. Ronnie went straight to the telephone.

‘Oh, operator, could you please put me through to the aerodrome at White Waltham?’

After half a minute a woman’s voice said, ‘What department, miss?’

‘The Air Transport Auxiliary. I’m trying to reach Lorraine Linfoot – one of the pilots,’ she added proudly.

‘Your name?’

‘Ronnie Linfoot – her sister.’

‘One moment, please.’

The minutes ticked by. Then there was the sound of a click.

‘Ronnie, is something wrong?’ Raine’s voice was breathless, as though she’d been running hard.

‘No, nothing really,’ Ronnie said, delighted her sister was there. ‘I just wondered if you could meet me in London on Friday?’

‘London?’

‘Yes. I’ve never been and I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to have a proper day together. We never have,’ she finished.

There was a pause. Then Raine said, ‘I’m not due a day off until Monday. Would that do?’

‘No. You see I’m meeting someone on Friday.’

The line crackled. All she could hear was Raine saying ‘important’.

‘It is important,’ Ronnie said.

‘Are you meeting a boy?’

‘Don’t be daft. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. Is there a chance –?’

More crackling. Ronnie shook the receiver in frustration.

‘– I could swap?’ Raine finished, and Ronnie could imagine her older sister’s eyes gleaming with the idea of a secret. ‘No one’s going to jump at giving up a Friday for a Monday, but I could probably persuade someone. I’ll see what I can do and phone you back. It might not be until this evening as you only just caught me. I’ve got a couple of deliveries to do.’

‘That would be marvellous. I’d clap my hands if I wasn’t holding the receiver.’

Raine chuckled, then said, ‘Where’s Maman at the moment?’

‘Having coffee with Mrs Mortimer.’

‘Oh, James’s mother. I’ve still not met her, but Suzy says she’s lovely.’

‘I have, and she is,’ Ronnie said.

‘Right then, I must go. Give Maman my love. I’ll have a word with her as well this evening.’

‘Thanks, Raine.’

Ronnie put the receiver down. If her sister could organise the swap it would take a load off her mind.

The telephone rang just after six. Ronnie sprang up to grab it but her mother, who was in the front room, got to the hall first.

‘Is it Raine?’ she mouthed.

Simone put her finger to her lips. There was a long pause. Ronnie was just about to go back to the kitchen when she heard her mother say:

‘This is Mrs Linfoot, Véronique’s mother.’

Another frustrating pause. Ronnie was beside herself with curiosity.

‘Oui, I know. I can give her a message.’

‘Maman, please let me take it.’

Ronnie put out her hand for the receiver but Simone held on to it.

‘Shhhh!’ She turned her back to Ronnie. ‘Excusez-moi,’ she said into the mouthpiece.

‘Yes, I will pass on the message. I am sure she will do this.’

‘Maman, please …’

‘I did not quite hear.’ Her mother gripped the receiver more firmly and the caller spoke for some moments. ‘Oh, yes, she did mention it.’ She nodded. ‘Yes, I hope so, too. Thank you, monsieur.’ She replaced the receiver.

‘Maman—’

‘That was your Mr Lincoln,’ Simone said, walking back to the front room. Ronnie followed. ‘He asked if you could go in tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. He needs you to stay with some animals while he is gone no more than two hours. You heard me. I said I was sure you will do this. You may telephone him to confirm.’

‘Why didn’t you let me tell him there and then?’

‘Because he said something very interesting. He asked me if I could persuade you to accept his offer to work for him permanently.’ Simone regarded Ronnie and sighed. ‘But you have not told me this.’

Ronnie’s chest tightened. ‘He only mentioned it yesterday as I was leaving.’

‘Surely that is important enough to discuss with your maman.’

‘I was going to, but I wanted to make a decision first. He asked me to think about it before giving an answer.’

‘You must know if you would like to work for this man … and do you not love animals?’

‘You know I do. If there wasn’t a war on I’d jump at the chance but …’ Oh, what the heck. She plunged in before she could change her mind. ‘Maman, I spoke to Raine this morning. We’re planning to go to London next week – spend the day together. Just her and me,’ she added quickly.

To her amazement her mother smiled. How beautiful she was. If only she would smile more often. Then Ronnie froze at her next words:

‘We can all three spend the day together. A mother and her two daughters. It will be wonderful.’

No, Maman. That’s not what I want at all. Blast it!

Ronnie tried to control the alarm she felt at Maman’s suggestion.

‘Véronique, why are you quiet? What is the day you will choose?’

‘Um, I’m not sure. Raine’s going to telephone this evening. She has to work something out with the other pilots.’

‘It must not be Friday,’ Maman warned. ‘I have promised to help Beatrice Mortimer at the Red Cross.’

They’d just finished supper when Raine rang. This time Ronnie managed to get to the phone.

‘Friday’s all arranged,’ Raine said. ‘I’ll meet you at Victoria Station at ten o’clock. It’s a direct line. But give yourself plenty of time in case of delays. All right?’

‘Yes, that’ll be perfect.’

‘What have you told Maman?’

‘Only that you and I want to have a day together. She immediately said how wonderful it will be for the three of us. Oh, Raine—’

She heard Raine heave a sigh. ‘Don’t worry. Leave it with me and put her on the phone.’

Five minutes later her mother appeared at the kitchen as Ronnie was washing the dishes.

‘It is so disappointing. Lorraine can only have the Friday for her day off. I said I am not able to come. But you may go with her. I expect you want to discuss the job with the vet.’ She looked Ronnie up and down and frowned. ‘I wish I had the money for you to buy a dress to wear to meet your sister in London. I cannot remember the last time I saw you looking pretty.’

‘A dress isn’t practical for my kind of life,’ Ronnie said, breathing out. She was actually going to spend some time with Raine whom she adored. They’d never done anything like this before. Maybe her sister would stop treating her like a kid when she told her about the interview with Mrs Hunter.

Ronnie gave an inward smile. Raine was in for a shock.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.