A Mother's Love Read online

  ‘But as you seem so keen to be getting on to a gun site you’ll be glad to know that your training begins on Monday, although I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you. You’ll still be expected to peel the odd spud or two.’

  The corporal was right about starting their training that Monday, but by the end of the first week, Arla had to admit that whilst peeling potatoes might be tedious it was a lot easier than learning all the different types of aircraft, as well as being subjected to any number of tests whilst having to answer what felt like an endless stream of questions.

  ‘The next part of your training will take place in Aborfield,’ the sergeant informed them, ‘but not all of you will be going. Some will need to repeat this stage of training.’

  Ellie and Arla waited with bated breath to see if they would be going to Aborfield, and were relieved to find they had passed. Arla sighed with relief. ‘I couldn’t stand doin’ all them spuds again.’

  ‘Mr Murray, I am telling you what I’ve told you the last three times you’ve been here: we have nothing for you at the moment, but should the RAF ever—’

  Aidan cut across him. ‘Should you ever need a cripple? Is that what you’re trying to say?’ Aidan leaned towards the sergeant, both hands palm down on the gnarled wooden surface of the table.

  The sergeant’s eyes darted wildly as he sought help from one of his colleagues, but it seemed that everyone else in the room either had gone momentarily deaf or was too busy to notice the unfolding scene. He looked up at Aidan, his eyes pleading for understanding. ‘That is not what I am trying to say. It’s just that we’re … we’re …’

  Aidan stood up straight, folding his arms as he did so. ‘You’re what? Full?’

  The sergeant ran his fingers through his hair. This was not going to be a good day. The young Irishman who was presently giving him grief had been coming in regularly over the past two weeks. Each day he came, he would park his scruffy-looking pony and cart below the steps of the town hall, an act that brought the sergeant no end of complaints from the general public as well as the council. Once inside he would brandish his papers and demand to be signed up, whilst outside his transport fouled the paving in the smartest part of town. The sergeant sighed miserably. It was true that the services took able-bodied people on first, and with good reason, for goodness’ sake, he thought to himself. Even people with flat feet got turned away, and this chap appeared to have a lot worse than fallen arches. He opened his mouth to try to explain his reasons for the umpteenth time, but the Irish man refused to let him speak.

  ‘Hundreds of others have already met their maker whilst doin’ this job, yet here I am, willing to risk it all just to be in the RAF. Can’t you understand that I don’t want to be just a farmer? I want to be out there doin’ my bit, flyin’ a Spitfire, or a Lancaster, anything, as long as it means I get to have a go at Jerry. I’d be good at it, I know I would, but you won’t even let me get my foot through the door, just because it’s—’ He broke off as an officer who had been standing nearby approached the desk.

  Without saying a word he looked Aidan up and down, before resting his eyes on the stick that Aidan had laid across the table. He looked curiously back at Aidan. ‘Name?’

  For the first time in weeks, Aidan suddenly sensed the approach of a breakthrough. Normally it was he who was doing the talking, but this officer was looking at him as though he were a magistrate weighing up the charges. ‘Aidan Murray, sir,’ he said. Standing as straight as his legs would allow, he pulled off what he thought might pass as a salute.

  The officer’s eyes narrowed as he appeared to reach a decision. ‘What’s the matter with your legs?’

  Aidan swallowed hard. In all the times he had come here, no one with any kind of authority had so much as acknowledged his presence. In that moment he knew that this could be his one and only shot at getting into the RAF, so he’d better make it good. He licked his lips nervously. ‘Tractor, sir. Farming accident when I was ten years old. I’ve been left with one leg slightly shorter than the other, but there isn’t a damned thing I can’t do on our farm as well as any man, if not better. And I know about steerin’ aeroplanes, and how you need to use your legs – my granddaddy fought in the first lot and he told me – and I know I could do it.’

  The officer nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘Any good in school? Did you get your higher, or are you just a farmer who—’

  The words ‘just a farmer’ sparked a fire inside Aidan; nerves gone, he interrupted the officer’s flow. ‘As I told the sergeant, I am not just a farmer. And in answer to your other question, yes I did pass my higher. Did bloody well too, sir.’

  The officer’s lips curved slightly at the corners. ‘I can hear that you’re not just a farmer, and, despite that old nag of yours outside, I can see it too.’

  Aidan was about to stand up for Spud when he realised what the officer’s words implied. He searched for his next question, but the officer was still speaking, only this time he was addressing the sergeant. ‘Crumpton, take this man’s details and then pass them on to me.’ Turning back to Aidan, he lifted the stick off the table and handed it over. ‘As for you, Murray, when your papers arrive you’re to come straight to me, understand? Captain Mathias. The instructions will be clear on the letter.’ He glanced at Spud, who was just visible on the pavement outside, and added, ‘And for God’s sake, get that crapping machine off government property. When you’re told where to report I suggest that you leave the pony at home and take the train instead.’

  Reading the letter in front of him, Connor punched the air with glee, his fist accidentally connecting with the underside of the top bunk. There was an aggravated snort as an annoyed-looking face appeared above him. ‘Bugger off, Connor. You know I hate it when you start messin’about like that. This bed’s hardly safe as it is; a kid of two’d do a better job with matchsticks and sticky tape.’

  ‘Aidan – the cousin I told you about – has been accepted into the RAF, and they’re sending him for pilot training, can you believe it? We could end up in the same aircrew.’

  The owner of the face gave a brief, sarcastic round of applause. ‘Well, bully for you … or him … whichever. I’m sure you’ll be very happy. Now if that’s all, can I get on wi’ writin’ me own letters? Only after you knockin’ me like that I’ll have to start the last one again, ’cos I’ve got a bleedin’ line goin’ straight across the first page.’

  There was the sound of ripping paper as Connor tore a sheet from his own pad and held it up. ‘Sorry, Shorty. Here you go,’ he said repentantly. ‘It’s just that they’ve turned him away so many times, ’cos of his leg, that I didn’t think he’d ever get in. Heck, if I were him I’d’ve given up a long time ago. I wonder what made him reapply?’

  Shorty shrugged and took the proffered sheet. ‘Darned if I know … or care, for that matter. Ta for the paper.’

  Connor read the letter again, and wondered if Ellie had heard about Aidan’s success. He had been writing to her on a regular basis, and Arla too, and all in all their little group seemed to be doing quite well in the services. Both girls appeared to be enjoying their training and were going to a camp in Arborfield, wherever that was. Connor himself had remustered as an air gunner after being spotted by one of the officers when they had been playing cricket on the airfield one afternoon.

  ‘You’ve got bloody good hand-eye coordination, lad. Have you ever shot a gun?’

  Connor shook his head. ‘Never seen a gun, never mind shot one.’

  That afternoon the officer had taken him clay pigeon shooting, and Connor had proved to be a crack shot.

  ‘Sorry, lad, I know you wanted to be an electrical engineer, but someone with that good an aim is more useful as aircrew.’

  It was all Connor could do to stop himself whooping with joy. When he had first entered the RAF he had applied for pilot training, but having been rejected he had signed up to be an electrical engineer, something that his mother had approved of as it would give him a good job wh
en the war was over. But being a gunner meant that Connor would get to go on sorties with bomber command, something he had always longed to do.

  Now, the tip of his pencil hoverad over the pad. Did Ellie and Aidan correspond? He felt sure they must; he knew his cousin had a soft spot for Ellie and would be surprised if he had not at least attempted to contact her. But neither had mentioned the other in their letters, so … Dear Ellie …

  Entering their barracks in Arborfield, both girls noticed the similarities between their new hut and the one they had just left.

  ‘It’s like déjà vu,’ said Arla. ‘Shall we keep to the same routine as we did in the last one? You on top and me below?’

  Ellie, who had already begun spreading her biscuits in a row, nodded. ‘Only as long as you stop giving the underside of my mattress a good shove just as I’m about to fall asleep. I know you think it’s funny but it takes me ages to drop back off.’

  With her bed made up and possessions safely stowed away, Ellie sat on her top bunk and glanced around the room at the rest of the girls, some of whom were still trooping in from various parts of the country. When she and Arla had arrived the NCO had advised them to get an early night: ‘Reveille will sound at six-thirty and you’ve a full day of intensive training ahead, so it’ll be better for you if you get plenty of sleep.’

  Ellie was sure everyone would have received the same advice, but Arla was looking at the clock above the door. ‘It’s only half past eight, way too early to go to bed. How about we go and get summat to eat? I’m starvin’ and it’ll give us a chance to see where the NAAFI is and what it looks like,’ she said, as Ellie slid down from the top bunk. ‘Let’s hope there’s some decent fellers from the Royal Artillery in there, or are you savin’ yerself for that Aidan you’re allus bangin’ on about?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘I’m not savin’ myself for any man, least of all Aidan. Besides, that’s not why I applied for the ATS. I’m happy bein’ single, thank you very much. And I don’t bang on about him. It’s just that I loved life on the farm and he was part of it.’ Aidan, perched on top of Hercules, smiling broadly down at her …

  She had deliberately not told Arla about Aidan’s accident, not because she feared her friend would make fun of him or be mean in any way, but because she knew that Arla thought they should both marry officers who could take them away from the slums of Liverpool. Ellie envisaged some of the officers she had seen since she had been in the ATS. All smartly turned out, all well presented. Then she thought of Aidan with his bushy black hair and raggedy old clothes. There was no doubt about it, Aidan was not the sort of man Arla had in mind when it came to marriage, and whilst his looks did not matter to Ellie, of course, she would be the first to admit that he was not what you might call typically handsome, although there was something about him that she found attractive.

  Arla raised her eyebrows fleetingly. ‘Blimey! Keep your hair on. If you want to sit on the shelf watching all the prime cuts being taken, that’s your prerogative, but I don’t intend to settle for scrag end.’

  Ellie shrieked with laughter. ‘You’re not in the butcher’s, Arla Winthorpe.’

  Arla lifted her brow. ‘Have you seen the way some of those women look at the men? It’s like being at the farmers’ market, only instead of bidding they’re grabbin’ what they can.’

  Walking around a new station in the dark was not ideal when you had no idea where you were going, and the girls soon found they were back where they had started. ‘It really will be time for bed by the time we’ve found the NAAFI,’ groaned Ellie. ‘I’m game for one more try but if we end up back here I’m callin’ it a night.’

  As it turned out, the NAAFI was not far from their hut, and they had already walked past it on their first expedition. Looking round the inside, Arla nodded to Ellie. ‘Looks the same as the one in Preston. Let’s see if the food’s any better.’

  The only food left on offer was a rather stale cheese sandwich, which they cut in two and washed down with a mug of tea. ‘I’ll have nightmares tonight after eatin’ that cheese,’ Arla said ruefully. ‘Give us a prod if I start screamin’ in me sleep.’

  Ellie rolled her eyes. ‘It was your idea to come here—’ She broke off as a familiar face entered the NAAFI. ‘Struthers! Over here.’

  Private Struthers nodded to the girls. ‘Be right with you. I’m just gettin’ a cuppa.’

  When he sat down Ellie and Arla bombarded him with questions. ‘What’s it like here? Is there anywhere we can go dancing? Is there anyone to watch out for?’

  Struthers laughed. ‘You two caught on quick, didn’t you? It’s the same here as it is everywhere: you’ll learn that as you move around the country. There are a few places you can go dancing off camp, but they hold a weekly one in the mess so if all else fails there’s always that. As for anyone to watch out for, the usual bunch of shouting sergeants, officers and the like.’

  ‘Are all the camps the same, then? Doesn’t anything change?’ Arla said, feeling a shade disappointed.

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry, but no. They do it intentionally, so it don’t matter where they send you, see?’ He pointed at their empty plate. ‘The food don’t get no better neither, before you ask.’

  Arla pulled a face. ‘Join the army and see the army,’ she said sullenly.

  ‘How come you’re here, anyhow? Do you move from camp to camp same as us?’ Ellie asked.

  Struthers nodded. ‘I go wherever I’m needed. I’m trained to do more than just the gun sites.’ He winked at Arla. ‘I’m versatile.’

  Arla groaned. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have had that sandwich. I’ve got awful indigestion now.’

  ‘Good old army food, there ain’t nowt else quite like it – thank God. Tell you what, Winthorpe, how about I take you dancin’ one evenin’? Not tonight, of course, but once you’ve settled in?’

  Arla stared at him in disbelief. She wanted to say, ‘But you’re not an officer, or a sergeant, or even a corporal,’ but looking into his hopeful expression she hadn’t the heart. ‘We’ll see,’ she managed rather lamely.

  Ellie grinned like the Cheshire Cat all the way back to their hut. ‘Who‘s got themselves a hot date with Private Struthers?’ she teased.

  ‘Pack it in!’ Arla said glumly. ‘My tummy’s churnin’ and I’m not in the mood.’

  Ellie linked arms with her. ‘Not going smoothly, your plan to join the army and marry an officer, is it? Still, we all have to start somewhere …’

  Arla giggled. ‘Poor Struthers. He’s a nice enough chap, but let’s be fair, even if he was an officer …’

  ‘… he wouldn’t have a chance, not with you at any rate. Not that I’m implyin’ that you’re bothered about the way a feller looks, but …’

  ‘… I do prefer them to have all their own teeth, and not be sufferin’ from what looks like a severe bout of the measles,’ Arla finished.

  Ellie nodded. ‘Poor Struthers indeed. I’m sure he’ll grow out of the spotty stage. Most of us do.’

  ‘He might be quite handsome under that lot, who knows? Personally I prefer my men to’ve gone through puberty.’

  Laughing, Ellie shook her head. ‘Listen to you, Arla Winthorpe. The way you carry on anyone’d think you were a woman of the world, not a young girl who hasn’t had her first kiss.’

  ‘Neither’ve you,’ said Arla defensively.

  Ellie chuckled. ‘No, and I don’t want to kiss anyone for a long time yet, man or boy.’

  Arla raised her brows. ‘Not even Aidan?’

  ‘Not even Aidan,’ Ellie said, grateful for the dark night sky which hid her blushes. ‘Besides, I think we’ve a bit more to worry about at the moment than kissing boys. From what the NCO said it’s going to be all systems go from tomorrow onwards, so we’d best try and get us some sleep … if we can after that awful sandwich.’

  Arla looked down at the empty page. How was she meant to ask her mother if she had heard from Archie Byrnes without actually coming out and saying it? She knew fro
m her mother’s last letter that Archie had left the court, but not whether he had gone overseas or was, as Arla hoped, working on a gun site in England.

  She tapped her pencil against her forehead. Perhaps she could ask her mother to ask Archie’s mother for his whereabouts so that she might write to him? She stopped tapping the pencil against her forehead and tapped it against her chin instead. No, that would not do at all. It would be worse than asking after his well-being. She gazed vaguely around the room as she tried to come up with an idea. From the corner of her eye she saw two soldiers marching past the window, and smiled. She would say that she thought she might have seen Archie in Preston. Then she would ask if her mother knew whether he was in a camp nearby, and peshaps if she did not already know the answer she would ask Mrs Byrnes.

  Arla gave a contented sniff. It was the perfect plan. No one would question her reason for asking about her adversary’s whereabouts, and she would be able to stop worrying. Providing he’s not been posted abroad, that is, Arla thought wretchedly. If he has then I’m going to worry myself sick. She bit the end of her pencil. Confound the dratted boy! Why did he have to run off and play soldiers? Surely he must realise that all he’d achieve would be to harry everyone who cared two hoots about him into an early grave? If she ever found out he’d left the country she’d give him a damned good dressing-down the next time they met, and a thick ear besides, she thought decidedly.

  Setting pencil to paper, she put her plan into action.

  Ellie smoothed out the page in front of her.

  You were right, Ellie! After days of making a nuisance of myself down at the recruiting office they finally listened to me – well, Captain Mathias did at any rate. It’s him I’m training under now. I just wanted to write to thank you for persuading me that I should keep trying. If it hadn’t been for you I think I’d still be on the farm. Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with farming, mind you. Although I’d wager it’s less dangerous being on a gun site than it is dealing with our Blue.