Chapter 6
Chapter 6
‘I’ll see you at Hamble, then,’ said Betty as she shrugged on her flying suit and pulled the helmet down over her hair.
Fitz had slipped on her trousers from her luggage and yanked off her skirt, managing to maintain her dignity. She was aware that Sam was standing in the doorway watching her leave. Oh, well, it wasn’t like he could see anything. ‘All right, Betty,’ she called back. ‘See you there.’
As Fitz pulled on her flying suit, Betty started the engine of her aircraft. Unusually, the engine spluttered and it took Betty another try to get it going properly before taxiing towards the runway.
Fitz’s Spitfire started first time without any problem and she gave a wave to Sam as the chocks were removed from under her wheels and she was given the all-clear to follow Betty towards the runway. She watched as her friend’s plane took off into the air.
Fitz prepared her own plane ready for take-off and was about to open the throttle and speed down the airstrip when she noticed Betty’s plane seemed incredibly low.
A swell of panic rolled up from the pit of Fitz’s stomach. Betty needed to gain height and speed. What on earth was she doing? There must be something wrong with the plane. The deep growl of her own engine was too loud for her to hear Betty’s Spitfire, which might have been able to give Fitz an indication whether everything was all right.
She looked across to the hangar and could see Bob standing watching Betty. He was too far away for Fitz to see his expression properly but his whole body stance looked on edge. Then from behind him, she saw Sam coming across to join him.
Fitz looked back at Betty’s plane, which had just about cleared the trees and was climbing into the sky but not fast enough. She watched for several more seconds and could see Betty was fighting to keep the Spitfire in the sky. She was turning back on herself and must be trying to reach the airfield again.
Immediately, Fitz manoeuvred her own plane away from the landing strip to give Betty every chance to touch down safely and to keep her own aircraft out of harm’s way. The last thing Betty needed was to have to think about avoiding a crash of any description.
Fitz taxied swiftly back to the apron of the airfield and cut her engine. She unbuckled her harness and jumped out of the cockpit, onto the wing of the Spitfire. With one hand shielding the sun from her eyes she tracked Betty’s plane. The engine was spluttering.
‘Sounds like a spark plug is misfiring,’ called Bob.
Fitz glanced down at him and could see the apprehension in his expression. She looked back over to the hangar where a couple of other crew members had come out. They all recognised the sound of an engine that wasn’t working as it should.
This wasn’t good.
Fitz fixed her gaze back on Betty’s plane. ‘Come on, Betty, land it,’ she said out loud. The plane was losing height and speed far too quickly. It was spluttering now like someone was choking it.
‘Come on!’ shouted Bob. ‘You can do it.’
The words of encouragement were all they had. Fitz felt totally helpless. No one could do a thing to help her friend.
The aircraft was turning in towards the airstrip now. It was dangerously low to the trees on the perimeter of the airfield, the wheels skimmed over the top of the tallest branches.
‘She’s not going to make it,’ said Bob before swearing not so quietly.
‘You can do it, Betty!’ cried out Fitz. She could hear the crack in her voice. The aircraft’s engine cut out. There was a silence that filled the whole airfield. Fitz couldn’t take her eyes off the plane. She clasped her hands together. ‘Please God,’ she begged. ‘Please God, let her land it safely.’
The plane was dropping faster and faster.
It hit the runway with a thud. One of the landing wheels collapsed with the force of the impact and the airplane skidded sideways, sliding along on its belly. Sparks flew up from the undercarriage and body of the plane and it spun violently towards the left. The wing dug into the grass alongside the landing strip sending the plane into a tumble and nose diving into the ground.
Fitz jumped from the wing of the Spitfire and was hurtling across the airfield towards her friend. She could hear one of the pilots shouting at her to stop, but she ignored them. She had to get to Betty. The stench of aviation fuel assaulted her nostrils. They had been flying with full tanks of fuel and had barely used a fraction of it, with Tangmere being their first stop.
Before she made it another twenty yards, there was a huge explosion and the Spitfire burst into flames. The force of the explosion knocked Fitz from her feet and she landed on the grass with a thud, winding herself for a few moments.
She could hear a scream and for one awful second thought it was Betty but realised she was screaming as the single engined plane was engulfed in flames.
Fitz stumbled to her feet, her legs were wobbly and she fell to the ground. She got up again. She had to get to Betty. A vehicle sped past her. It was the emergency rescue truck, swiftly followed by an ambulance. As she began to run again, she was suddenly caught by something on her arm and tugged backwards.
‘Don’t go any closer!’ shouted a male voice. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘Betty! My friend Betty is in there!’ Fitz struggled to free herself from the grip of the man, but he was too strong for her. She realised she was crying. ‘Let me go!’
She momentarily registered it was Sam Carter who had grabbed her.
‘Fitz! Stop!’ he yelled.
Before she could respond, there was another huge explosion from the Spitfire. The whole aircraft was up in flames. Fitz let out a cry of horror, grabbing hold of Sam’s arm, wanting to look away, yet unable to move.
Sam wrapped his arms around Fitz and held her close to him, turning her away from the sight of the aircraft.
Still holding her, Sam walked Fitz back towards the hangar but that was as far as Fitz would allow herself to be taken. ‘I’m not leaving her,’ she said through tears.
‘All right, but no running off,’ said Sam gently. He unbuckled her helmet and lifted it from her head with one hand, all the while keeping his other arm around her.
Fitz watched in horror as the fire crew tackled the blaze and then, amazingly, she could see two of them at the cockpit, pulling Betty’s body from the fire. All she could do was watch as Betty was placed onto a stretcher and then swiftly transferred into the ambulance.
The vehicle moved at speed across the uneven grass of the airfield, towards the medical centre.
‘You can’t go there,’ said Sam, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Let the doc see to her. You’ll only be in the way.’
Fitz wanted to argue but she knew Sam was right. She allowed herself to be led away back to the mess room where Sam sat her down in the same armchair she’d been in not fifteen minutes ago. Someone handed her a drink. She thought it might be port but she couldn’t taste it as she downed it in one. The warmth of the alcohol heated her throat but all she could taste in her mouth was smoke and aviation fuel.
Fitz wasn’t aware of time as she sat there waiting for news. It could have been five minutes or five hours. All she could think of was Betty. She was aware at some point of Sam asking her if she wanted to take her flying suit off and she nodded, unable to speak. She didn’t really care if she sat in the suit all day but she allowed Sam to help her take it off so she would be more comfortable. She smoked the cigarettes that were passed her way but she didn’t taste them. She didn’t enjoy them. She didn’t want them. She could feel her mind closing, tunnelling vision, her thoughts only of her friend. Fitz felt as if she was in some lucid dream that she couldn’t quite shake herself fully awake from.
It wasn’t until the door to the mess opened and the doctor stepped into the room that Fitz snapped back to attention.
She got to her feet, throwing her cigarette into the open fireplace.
The doctor looked at Fitz. His expression was grim. His gaze went to Bob and Sam who were standing either side of her. She felt Sam’s hand cup her elbow, as if ready to steady her.
‘I’m very sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m afraid there was nothing we could do to save her.’
‘Nothing?’ repeated Fitz. This couldn’t be true. She must have misheard. There must have been something.
The doctor shook his head. ‘She was too badly burned. She never regained consciousness. We did everything we could. I’m sorry.’
Fitz looked at Sam as if seeking confirmation. She went to speak but no words came out.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ suggested Sam.
From nowhere anger swamped Fitz. She felt the burn of fury in her stomach. It exploded up through her chest, bursting through her throat. ‘I don’t want to sit down,’ she almost shouted. ‘What good will that do?’
A part of her brain knew she was being irrational. She fought to calm her emotions. She couldn’t let the RAF chaps see her break down, that would be exactly what they were expecting of a woman. No, she had to keep her emotions in check.
She looked the doctor in the eye and stood taller, pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin up. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll make sure Betty’s family know.’
‘I’ll let them know back at Maidenhead,’ said the doctor. ‘I think maybe you shouldn’t fly any more today. We can arrange for accommodation for you for the night. Tangmere Cottage will have a spare bed, no doubt.’
Fitz took a deep breath. Much as she would like to curl up in a ball and cry her heart out, she was damned if she was going to do it here. ‘Thank you but I’ll be fine,’ she replied. Whilst she appreciated that the suggestion came from a good place, she was sure male pilots would not be afforded the same sympathetic treatment.
‘Perhaps fly back to ATA training headquarters, then,’ suggested the doctor. ‘I’m sure you’ll be needed there for a debrief of the incident today.’
Fitz nodded. She’d agree to this. It felt wrong to be heading off around the English countryside on what was essentially a jolly when one of her friends had just died. ‘If you could let Maidenhead know, I’d appreciate that.’
The doctor nodded and exchanged another look with Sam, before leaving the room.
‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right flying back?’ asked Bob.
Before Fitz could answer, Sam spoke. ‘Of course, she will.’ He looked at Fitz. ‘It’s like falling off a horse. You need to get up and get back on straight away. It’s what you need.’
Fitz studied Sam’s blue eyes, as blue as the vast open sky on a summer’s day. He understood her. Understood her need to experience the adrenaline rushing through her veins. It was what she lived for. She was addicted to that rush. She needed that surge to remind herself she was alive and that life was for living. It was a balm for her heart.
She had known from the start that she and Sam had a connection, but she’d not been able to articulate it or explain it before. And now she was certain that connection came from a place of pain. She wondered what heartbreak he was harbouring.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s exactly what I need to do.’
‘Maybe we should get some fresh air first,’ suggested Sam. ‘You won’t be able to leave just yet, anyway. They’ve got to clear the runway.’
Fitz nodded. Again, he knew exactly what she needed. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Bob. ‘Thanks so much. Please thank the emergency crews, too.’
She followed Sam through the hallway and out the back of the mess hut. ‘There’s not much to look at around here,’ said Sam. ‘But we can take a walk down to the church, if you like.’
‘I’m not a religious person,’ said Fitz.
‘Neither am I, but there’s a peacefulness there. A sort of calm.’
They walked along the main road and took the turning for St Andrews Church.
‘Thank you for this,’ said Fitz.
‘Anytime.’
They walked on in silence, coming to a halt at the gate to the graveyard. Fitz leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and lifted her face up to the sky, absorbing the warm rays of the spring sun. She took several deep breaths. ‘All this feels like an awful nightmare.’ She opened her eyes and squinted against the sun, before looking down at her feet. Tears filled her eyes and she fought hard to keep them at bay.
‘You know that British stiff upper lip isn’t always a good thing,’ said Sam softly. He rested his hand on her arm as if to underline his words.
The small act of sympathy was too much for Fitz. The tears breached the lids of her eyes and streamed down her face.
Then Sam was holding her again. His strong arms enveloped her and she had an unmistakable feeling of safety. She allowed herself to be held, unsure when it was she had last felt that human touch of kindness. The depth of her emotion at losing Betty surprised her and she quietly allowed the feeling to show itself through her tears.
After a few minutes, when her silent crying had subsided, Fitz pulled away, rummaging in her pocket for a hanky to wipe her face. Sam beat her to it and produced a crisp white handkerchief for her to use.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And sorry.’
‘Hey, you don’t have to be sorry. It’s not good to hold all that emotion in. You gotta let it out sometime.’
‘I just didn’t want to do it back at the mess,’ confessed Fitz. ‘That would only reinforce some of the views from the men that women shouldn’t be doing this job.’
‘You shouldn’t let small-minded people bother you.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t usually, and I know you’re right.’
‘I get it sometimes here even as a man,’ said Sam. ‘Not everyone is happy to have a Yank in their midst.’
‘Even though you’re half British?’
‘Sometimes I think that’s worse than being a full American,’ said Sam. ‘It means they have to kind of accept me even if they don’t want to.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Fitz. ‘From what I saw back at the mess, you’re very well liked.’
‘I am now. Here with 601 Squadron but it hasn’t always been like that. I guess my connection with some of the guys back at Cambridge and then through White’s in London made it easier.’
Fitz raised her eyebrows at the mention of the exclusive London gentlemen’s club. ‘White’s? Impressive.’
‘To be honest, I don’t always get the British snobbery thing, but I have to confess, knowing the right people and mixing in the right circles has made it easier to be accepted.’
Fitz smiled. ‘I love the way you’re playing the long game.’
‘Don’t let on to the fellas back at the mess. You’ll blow my cover.’ He winked at her and Fitz grinned back at him and then immediately felt guilty. Here she was chatting and flirting with Flying Officer Sam Carter when her dear friend Betty had died just a couple of hours earlier.
She looked down and shook her head, embarrassed at herself. Then taking a deep breath, she straightened up. ‘Right, I really need to get back,’ she said, her tone a little sharper than she intended. It didn’t do well to let her guard down. ‘I need to get back to Maidenhead.’
‘Sure,’ said Sam.
They made their way back to the airstrip where the remains of Betty’s Spitfire had been removed from the runway. Several of the ground crew were performing a walk of the strip to make sure all debris had been cleared so as not to cause another catastrophe.
‘All set when you are,’ said Bob coming over to where Fitz and Sam were standing. ‘Your gear is over in the office.’
‘Thanks,’ said Fitz. ‘I’ll get changed now.’
‘I’ll wait to see you off,’ said Sam.
Fitz returned several minutes later, kitted out in her flight gear once more. It wouldn’t have bothered her getting changed on the airstrip but Bob had been sweet to put her belongings in the office.
Sam was waiting outside the hangar for her.
‘Thanks for earlier,’ said Fitz. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘No worries,’ said Sam.
‘I’ll get your handkerchief washed and back to you for the next time I’m here.’
Sam smiled. ‘I’m glad there’s going to be a next time.’
They shared a smile of unspoken communication. Fitz wasn’t sure what the feeling was that zipped through her stomach but the thought that he would be happy to see her again, matched her own sentiment. Once more, in some unfathomable way, she felt a connection to Sam. Maybe because of what they had just witnessed. As pilots they were both very much aware of the risks.
The flight back to Maidenhead was one of the loneliest Fitz had ever taken. For some obscure reason, it was worse than when her mother had died. Maybe because it brought the fragility of life into sharper focus. Her mother’s death all those years ago, seemed like another lifetime. One when Fitz was a child and which as an adult now she could escape from, but death had found her again. Someone close to her, someone she cared about. She may have only known Betty a short time but they, together with Marjorie and Elsie, had formed a tight-knit bond. And now the four were three.
When Fitz reached the ATA training school, she was immediately taken to be debriefed and she gave an accurate and full report of what had happened. She managed to keep her emotions under control by imagining it was a scene from a film or a book. That way she could take a step back and report as a viewer or a reader rather than a participant. It was a tactic she employed when thinking about her mother. It was easier that way and she now needed to use it again.
‘Well done, Fitz-Herbert,’ said the chief instructor. ‘Now, I don’t wish to sound brutal but it’s imperative you don’t go away from here all upset. It won’t do morale any good whatsoever. The last thing we need is anyone cracking under the pressure.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ replied Fitz solemnly.
‘Good. Dismissed.’
When Fitz arrived back at her billet she was met by Marjorie and Elsie, who were both as shocked and upset as she was, but they too had been given the lecture on not lowering morale among the other ferry pilots.
When they sat around the log burner with their cups of coffee that night, they poured an extra one for Betty and quietly shed a few silent and private tears for their dear friend.