Philly #2
We all had plenty of time to get to know one another.
Because we were so often constrained by the weather, much of our time was spent sitting around in the mess hall waiting to be given clearance to fly.
We’d play cards or backgammon, and I enjoyed doing the crossword in the newspaper – the cryptic one – and found I could often solve the final clues that the others couldn’t get.
That first winter, I chiefly remember the cold and the damp in my digs and having a perpetually dripping nose.
But the mess hall was warm with camaraderie, and I made some really good friends.
I was the baby of the group. Amy, being so much older and more experienced than I in every way, took me under her wing from the outset – keeping her promise to Teddy to look out for me, I suppose.
Before each sortie, if she was around, she’d always check which type of aircraft I’d been assigned and make sure I’d gone through my handling notes.
She knew as much about the particular quirks of each model as any of the flight engineers.
They all loved her, of course, even the grumpiest of the ground crew, and had huge respect for her because of all her experience.
After a while, as we worked together and spent many an hour sitting in the mess hall waiting for the weather to clear, Amy became a good friend and I could laugh with her about how starry-eyed I’d been when I met her on that very first day.
One afternoon, when I arrived back to the base after delivering a plane to Tangmere, an airfield on the south coast, she announced a group of the girls were going up to town (as we called London) that evening and asked me to join them.
‘We’ll go to the club, see who’s around.
Come with us, Philly. It’ll do us all good to have a change of scene.
’ It was springtime and the Blitz hadn’t yet begun (little did we know what the Luftwaffe would prove capable of when they unleashed their bombers on the city in the autumn of that year), so popping up to town for the evening was easily done.
It felt strange to do my hair and put on a frock for once.
I’d grown so used to wearing my air force blue trousers and jacket and pulling on a flying helmet that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to get dressed up.
We crowded into a train carriage for the hour’s journey into London.
Amy pulled out a tube of scarlet lipstick from her bag and applied it, using the window as a mirror.
She saw me watching and handed it to me.
‘Here, put on a bit of this,’ she said. ‘I find it helps no end in distracting attention from my red and runny nose.’ I followed suit and when I went to hand it back to her, she waved it away, saying ‘Keep it. The colour really suits you.’
The whole lot of us walked arm-in-arm from the station through the blacked-out streets, laughing and chattering, excited to be out on the town for once.
We attracted a few turned heads and wolf whistles along the way, too.
I felt a bit overwhelmed when we walked into the club, it was so crowded, so hot, so bright.
It felt as if the room fell silent for a moment at the sight of Amy Johnson walking in.
She had that effect wherever she went. I remembered the newspaper reports of a million people lining the streets of London to cheer her home on her return from her record-breaking flight to Australia.
Her beauty and her charisma made her what would nowadays be termed a celebrity, I suppose, but all the attention never went to her head.
She just wanted to get on with her job and fly planes.
I was still so young and gauche – just nineteen – and not nearly as worldly as most of the others.
But after we found a table and a round of drinks appeared, I began to relax and enjoy myself.
Amy knew everyone, it seemed, and we were soon surrounded by a noisy group of young men, resplendent in their RAF uniforms. More drinks appeared, as if by magic, and the band struck up a dance tune.
Several of the girls were whisked off to the dance floor.
And then a pilot slipped into the newly vacated chair next to me and I found myself looking into a pair of smiling blue eyes.
‘Fancy meeting you here, Philly Buchanan,’ he said.
‘Ben!’ I’m sure my cheeks must have blushed crimson all over again.
I’d thought about my handsome instructor often since saying goodbye to him at the end of my training, and whenever I saw a Spitfire when delivering planes to airfields the length and breadth of the country, I couldn’t help but check to see whether he might be piloting it.
We talked for hours. He asked about my work and told me what he could about his, although naturally he was bound by secrecy not to divulge any specifics.
We all knew from the posters at airfields that Careless Talk Costs Lives .
I gathered he’d been assigned to a squadron that was preparing to see action over Europe.
And when we weren’t talking, we danced. He was as good a dancer as he was a pilot. The only dances I’d been to before then were awkward Scottish reel evenings, yet with him my feet scarcely touched the ground as he guided me around the floor. I was floating on air.
When it was time to leave to catch the last train back to White Waltham, he walked me to the station.
He said goodbye, but he didn’t walk away, as if he were as reluctant to part as I.
Perhaps it was the headiness of falling in love – although it might just have been the gin I’d drunk – but on the spur of the moment I stood on tiptoes and kissed him.
And he kissed me back. I wanted that moment to last forever.
But then the guard was blowing his whistle, bringing me back down to earth with a bump, and one of the others grabbed my arm and pulled me into the carriage.
The door slammed shut behind me and the train began to move.
When I looked back, pressing my nose against the window, he was still standing there.
And there he stayed, watching the train pull away, until I couldn’t see him anymore.
The other girls teased me mercilessly on the journey home. ‘Be careful, Philly,’ Agnieszka warned. ‘Pilots are nothing but heartbreakers. And he’s a classic example.’
But Amy just smiled and gave me a hug, saying, ‘Pay no attention to them, Philly. They’re just jealous that you hooked one of the best-looking pilots.
Besides, even if he does turn out to be a dud, we all need to have our hearts broken a few times in life.
You might as well start with a good-looking one.
’ Then she added, ‘I told you that red lipstick works like a charm!’
I’ve worn that colour ever since. Because Amy gave it to me. And it reminds me of that first kiss, and the night I knew that Ben had fallen in love with me, just as I had with him.