Chapter 27 #2
‘Oh, I think it’s wonderful,’ Bobby said, beaming at him. ‘You were marvellous in our pantomime. Loads better than any ENSA comedian I’ve seen. I hope you’re sent to entertain wherever I am.’
‘Why, are you going somewhere?’
‘To the RAF training school ten miles away. I got called up to the WAAF – I leave on Monday. I’m ever so nervous.’
‘Then I ought to make the most of you, if you won’t be here the next time I come.’ The tune they had been dancing to ended and Archie took her hand to lead her to the tables of food. ‘Let’s get some tuck and have a little talk somewhere private, shall we?’
There wasn’t really anywhere private indoors, so after helping herself to a small chicken leg, a boiled egg and a piece of bread and butter, Bobby followed Archie outside with her plate.
She picked up the chicken leg.
‘Do you suppose this hen had stunted growth?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen such a tiny leg.’
‘Probably pigeon,’ Archie said. ‘I imagine someone sent Tops a brace or two from their hunting bag as a wedding gift. You could have had another, you know. Looked like there was plenty there.’
‘I’ve got so used to counting every mouthful, I can’t bring myself to break the habit.’ She frowned at the little leg. ‘I wonder what Topsy’s planning for the bones. You could get a lot of stock out of what’s on that table.’
Archie laughed. ‘You’re talking like a housewife already, darling. Not married yet, are you?’
‘No. Not yet,’ Bobby said quietly. ‘How about you? Have you managed to find yourself a suitable wife?’
‘I don’t need one now I’ve found a job,’ Archie said airily. ‘I mean, unless that’s a proposal. I’ll always make an exception for you, Cinders.’
‘I think Charlie might object,’ Bobby said, laughing. She lowered her voice. ‘Any other romances on the cards, while it’s just the two of us?’
Archie didn’t answer. He avoided looking at her as he nibbled on his pigeon leg.
Bobby mentally kicked herself. Had that been the wrong question to ask? It wasn’t like Archie to look so solemn. Perhaps it was too soon after losing Ned, the fighter pilot he had loved, for her friend to be considering a new lover.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re thinking of Ned, I suppose. I shouldn’t have been nosy.’
‘It’s not that.’ She noticed that Archie was now smiling softly. ‘I don’t want to tempt fate, that’s all.’
‘There is someone?’
‘Perhaps there is.’ He looked up to grin at her. ‘I’ll tell you what. Next time we see one another, I’ll tell you all about it. Wherever we are and whatever the circumstances, you can hold me to that. What do you say?’
She smiled. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘So you’re off to the WAAF, eh?’ he said as they ate.
‘Bumped into a WAAF pal of mine from RAF days recently. She was an erk when I met her, training as a plotter – you know, tracking enemy raids and all that. She’s got a code and cipher commission now.
It sounds like the RAF have moved her on to grand things since she and I were stationed together. ’
Bobby swallowed down a mouthful of bread and butter. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes, I ran into her at a club in London on embarkation leave. Couldn’t say where she was going, of course, but I suppose it will be Africa. She hinted she’s doing terribly important work in intelligence. It sounded like something out of a spy novel.’
Bobby frowned. ‘They’re sending her overseas?’
‘So I understand. She was bouncing with excitement about it.’
Bobby ate her egg in thoughtful silence, her mind wandering along a new avenue.
She had decided not to challenge her call-up because she had felt it was her duty to do her bit, but the prospect of joining the forces had given her little pleasure. She had a vague idea of spending her days typing stuffy military communications: nothing to tax her brain.
But now Archie had opened her mind to other prospects.
Some of those in the women’s services did go overseas, didn’t they?
There were WAAFs right in the thick of it, doing important work intercepting codes and ciphers, plotting courses for aircraft, interpreting aerial photographs and other activities vital to the course of the war.
All her life, Bobby had dreamed of doing something important.
When she was young, she had harboured an ambition to earn a place on a daily newspaper, breaking stories of national significance – perhaps even climbing as high as editor.
Then The Tyke had come into her life, and taught her that ‘important’ wasn’t always the same as ‘grand’.
Working on the little magazine had been an education, teaching her that when it came to people – ‘people before things,’ as Reg constantly told her – there really was no such thing as ‘trivial’.
But now her mind drifted back to those early ambitions. She thought of the book Reg had given her, the memoir of her hero Dorothy Lawrence, and how she had served on the front lines… and began to wonder. Could Bobby, too, be that woman?
She couldn’t do what Charlie did. She couldn’t fly. She couldn’t fight. But she was intelligent, hard-working and as tenacious as any man, and she was sure she had a hell of a lot more to give to the war effort than bloody shorthand typing.