The Girl in the Sky

Chapter 7 May–July 1941

Chapter 7

May–July 1941

The rest of training went through quickly and uneventfully. Although Fitz, Marjorie and Elsie had all been devastated by Betty’s death, they knew it was a harsh reality of what they were doing, and each and every one of the ATA pilots faced these dangers daily. There had been a funeral for Betty back in her hometown, and Fitz, Marjorie and Elsie had been given leave to attend, although it came with another kind but firm talk about not letting the incident affect them. Death was something all pilots faced and they needed to get used to it. In private they had grieved for their friend, but out on the airfield and up in the sky they had to put that loss to one side.

May arrived and Fitz, Marjorie and Elsie soon found themselves settling into full active duty at Number 15 women’s ferry pool in Hamble. It was close to the aircraft production factory in Southampton and many of their assignments involved picking up new aircraft from the site and delivering them to various RAF airfields around the south of England. They worked thirteen days on, followed by two days off.

Once they’d delivered an aircraft they were often tasked with taking another plane somewhere else and then another plane back again. At the end of the day, it was up to the ATA crew to make their way back to Hamble whenever possible. This could be by whatever means of transport available – plane, train, or bus. If it wasn’t possible, then they stayed overnight until they could either get back or were given another assignment.

Fitz loved the freedom being a ferry pilot offered, not to mention the different aircrafts she flew during the day. She could start the day off with a Spitfire, then transfer to a de Havilland and end the day flying a Hawker.

Fitz was in her element and was becoming well known among the air crew. Her penchant for ruby-red lipstick, changing out of her flight suit and into her uniform and heels, ready for a quick drink in the mess, was becoming legendary.

‘You’ve got quite a fanbase,’ said Marjorie one day after they had both delivered aircraft to one of the RAF bases and were heading back to Hamble ferry pool by train. In the mess the previous evening, the pilots had greeted Fitz enthusiastically and, according to Marjorie, were practically queuing up to buy her a drink. ‘You’re terrible for encouraging them.’ She laughed good humouredly.

‘Oh, it’s only a bit of fun,’ said Fitz. ‘They’re all good sports.’

‘You could have your pick of the bunch.’

‘You sound like my stepmother trying to marry me off,’ said Fitz. She winked at her friend to show she wasn’t cross.

‘Don’t you want to get married one day?’ asked Marjorie.

‘Maybe one day, but not now. I want to enjoy life and be my own person. Not be shackled to the sink and up to my elbows in dirty nappies.’

‘Good for you,’ said Marjorie. ‘But I’m sure you’ll meet someone one day who will make you think completely differently.’

Fitz wasn’t sure her friend was right, and for now she was happy as she was, doing the things she enjoyed. The only downside was it came at the expense of being at war. She was very much aware that, as an ATA ferry pilot, her experience of war was extremely different to the men fighting it out on the ground in Europe and Africa. It was very sobering to hear of people she knew from Badcombe who had been killed fighting for their country – such young men with so much of their lives ahead of them, tragically cut short. It made her all the more determined to enjoy and savour every minute of her life, despite the awful circumstances. Life could be snatched away at any moment, she knew that from bitter experience having lost her mother, so Fitz wasn’t going to waste a second of her life.

‘Post for you, Fitz,’ said Marjorie one afternoon after they had been out flying on what was the last week of training. She dropped the two letters into Fitz’s lap.

Fitz looked at the handwriting. ‘One from Pa and one from Michael,’ she said, choosing to open Michael’s first.

Master Michael Fitz-Herbert

Badcombe House

Little Badcombe

Cambridgeshire

13th May, 1941

Dear Geraldine

How are you? Are you flying lots of aeroplanes? Every time one goes over the house, I always look out of the window and wonder whether it’s you up there. I’ve been keeping a log of all the planes that fly over, the time and what type they are. Have you been over Badcombe? If you do go over the house next time can you tip the wings or dive down, just so I know it’s you?

Are you coming home on leave soon? I asked Pa if I could come and see you but he said he didn’t think that was possible because you don’t get many days off and you could be anywhere in the country depending on what planes you were delivering and where.

You should see the garden! It’s all been dug up to grow vegetables. Mummy said everyone must do their bit. There are posters in the village saying Dig for Victory. We have so many potatoes, I’ve been cycling down to the shop and leaving them there so people in the village can have some. We have a lot of carrots, too.

We are going to have some children from London to stay with us. Mummy said we will have two children who are brother and sister, like you and me. The boy is a year younger than me and the girl is two years younger so I’ll be the oldest for once. I heard Cook say to Annie that Mummy lost a little girl but I don’t know what she meant by that. Do you know anything about a little girl? I asked Cook and she said I shouldn’t have been listening to grown-up talk and I wasn’t to repeat a word of it. So I still have no idea what they meant. Maybe you can tell me?

I should go now. It’s teatime and Cook wants me to help Annie pick some fruit to make a pie.

I really hope you can come and visit soon. It’s awfully lonely in the house now you’ve gone. Pa said I wasn’t to make you feel homesick by telling you that I miss you, so I had better not say anything.

With love from your brother

Michael

Fitz stumbled at the part where Michael had overheard Cook and Annie talking. Of course, Fitz knew exactly what they meant but she had no idea that Camilla had lost a child. Was it a miscarriage or a stillborn? If it had been after Michael was born, then how had Fitz not known her stepmother was expecting another baby, or more to the point, how had she not known Camilla had suffered a loss? Fitz cast her mind back over the years since Michael had been born. She couldn’t remember Camilla ever being ill or bedridden or taken to hospital. When had this happened? And how didn’t she know?

Fitz felt awful. Camilla had gone through a terrible experience and Fitz had been totally oblivious. Could she have done something to help her? Oh, God, even worse, had she done something to cause more anxiety? An unexpected pang of guilt shot through Fitz – an emotion she wasn’t used to experiencing where her stepmother was concerned. She felt ghastly.

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

‘Everything all right?’ asked Marjorie from over the top of the letter she was reading.

‘Yes, fine,’ said Fitz quickly. She wasn’t ready to unpick the implications of Michael’s letter. She needed time to think about it.

She opened her father’s letter, hoping for some more uplifting news.

Edward Fitz-Herbert

Badcombe House

Little Badcombe

Cambridgeshire

20th May, 1941

Dearest Geraldine

I do hope this letter finds you well and you have settled in nicely to your role with the ATA.

Michael has written you a separate letter he tells me. He took himself off to the post office with it so I hope it has reached you.

I have some rather sad news to tell you, my dear. I heard today that your friend and flying instructor, Johnny Fisher has been killed flying over France. He was on a night-time mission, the details of which I don’t know. His aircraft was shot down and there were no survivors. His name will be read out at church on Sunday and I know you will want me to pass on your condolences to his family.

Fitz’s breath caught in her throat and she stopped reading as tears filled her eyes. Johnny Fisher was dead.

‘Oh, no,’ she gasped.

‘Fitz, what’s wrong?’ Marjorie put down her letter.

Fitz couldn’t speak at first. She looked up at her friend and shook her head.

Marjorie shot across the room and put her arm around Fitz. ‘Bad news?’

Fitz nodded. It was the second time in only a few weeks that someone close to her had been killed during the war and as before, it hit home very differently than hearing and reading about strangers dying.

‘Johnny Fisher. He taught me to fly. He’s been killed in action,’ Fitz finally managed to say.

‘Oh, Fitz. I’m so sorry,’ said Marjorie, hugging her friend tightly.

Fitz was grateful to have someone there. She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at her eyes so she could read the paragraph again.

‘He was shot down over France on a night mission,’ said Fitz, dabbing at her nose. ‘That’s some consolation, I suppose. He was doing what he loved. When my time comes, I hope I’m in the sky, too.’

‘Don’t talk like that now,’ said Marjorie. ‘I know what you mean, but even so, we mustn’t think about that. It’s tempting fate, even though I don’t believe the bloody thing myself but you know …’ She made Fitz a cup of tea, adding extra sugar. ‘You can have my ration for the day,’ she said. ‘You need it for the shock.’

Then Marjorie had sat back down in her chair with her letter. Fitz appreciated the gesture. Marjorie was pragmatic, as ever, and they both knew that dwelling on death was not a good thing. So Fitz instead thought of all the good times she’d had with Johnny and how much she had enjoyed learning to fly with him. He had been one of the few men not to dismiss her desire to be a pilot. He had never once said it wasn’t a place for women. He had always encouraged her to pursue her dream and she would be forever grateful for his patience and expert teaching. If it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t be where she was now.

Fitz drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, vowing to make Johnny proud of her and her flying. She’d never forget him.

It was a while before she picked up her father’s letter again to finish reading it.

So, my dear, moving onto better news, Camilla has volunteered to take in two children from London and they arrive tomorrow. Michael is looking forward to having two new playmates. We are also taking in two pregnant women whose babies are due in the next six weeks. Camilla has turned the two rooms at the top of the house into nurseries. I think she’s rather enjoying it all and I’m pleased she feels she has a purpose.

The village feels quite strange these days with no young men about, only those who have been declared unfit for duty but there are lots of young women here taking up the slack. You know, Geraldine, you can always come back and work on the farm as a land girl any time you like. Although I don’t suppose you will, I just wanted to remind you that you can.

I do hope you can call to see us soon on one of your days off, preferably by conventional travel and not a Tiger Moth.

Fondest love

Pa

Had Fitz not received Michael’s letter, she might have skimmed over the part in her father’s correspondence where he spoke of Camilla. She would have probably rolled her eyes and sighed at her father proudly talking about what his wife was doing. Today, however, Fitz did none of those things. With the knowledge she now possessed, inadvertently relayed by her brother, she had a very different impression of Camilla.

Not only was Camilla taking in two children, she was also taking in two pregnant women. Fitz couldn’t help wondering if it was to do with Camilla’s own loss. Some women would shy away from having contact with children and babies, but here Camilla was, opening the doors of Badcombe House to them.

It was bittersweet, though, if that was the right term. How could Camilla do that for absolute strangers but had never been able to do that for Fitz? It stung a little and that feeling of rejection stayed with her for the rest of the day, nestled amongst the grief for her flying instructor.

The pub was busy that evening, and Fitz was glad of the distraction. There were two ATA pilots there who she hadn’t met before. Two men, one of them older and probably too old for conscription, but the other could only be in his mid-twenties.

‘Oh, look, two new boys,’ said Fitz, as she, Elsie and Marjorie reached the bar. ‘Always good to see some new faces.’

‘Hello,’ said the younger man. He held out his hand. ‘Harry Broome.’

They exchanged greetings and introductions. The older chap was Reg Collins and both men had delivered aircraft to Southampton that day and were making their way back to Whitchurch airfield near Bristol the following morning.

‘Can we get you a drink?’ asked Harry.

‘I’ll have a G and T, thanks very much,’ said Fitz, ignoring the warning look Marjorie shot her way. After the news Fitz had received today, she very much felt like letting her hair down.

‘Ladies?’ asked Harry.

Elsie and Marjorie politely accepted the offer and while Elsie struck up conversation with Reg, who it turned out came from the same neck of the woods as her, Marjorie sat next to Fitz.

It was like having a chaperone, which only made Fitz act up more than usual. She felt a deep anger at the loss of her friends. She didn’t want to be angry but the other option was to cry and she couldn’t do that, either. Not here in the pub, anyway. ‘So, Harry, what brought you to the ATA?’ she asked the young pilot.

Harry grimaced. ‘Dodgy leg. I had Polio as a child. So whilst I might not be fit for active duty, I can damn well do my bit in the ATA.’

‘Good stuff,’ said Fitz. ‘I mean, I’m sorry about the Polio but it’s good you haven’t let it hold you back. That really would be a waste.’

‘Indeed,’ replied Harry. ‘And what made you want to fly planes?’

‘I don’t like to be outdone by the boys,’ said Fitz, taking a sip of her drink. ‘That would also be a waste.’

‘Anything the boys can do, the girls can do, too?’ suggested Harry.

‘Girls can do better, I think the term is,’ said Fitz.

‘Is that right?’

‘Absolutely.’ Fitz downed the remainder of her G and T.

‘Now that sounds like a challenge to me,’ said Harry, his gaze fixed on her.

Fitz felt a sharp kick in the back of her leg. It was Marjorie. ‘Take no notice of Fitz,’ said Marjorie. ‘She’s teasing you. She does this all the time.’

‘Who wants another drink?’ asked Fitz, getting to her feet. ‘My round.’

She went to the bar and Marjorie appeared at her side. ‘Go easy, Fitz.’

‘You’re not my chaperone,’ replied Fitz and immediately regretted sounding so terse with her friend. ‘Sorry. I’m being mean. I’m in a bad mood. I don’t even know what I’m doing chatting to that chap.’ She didn’t want to mention to Marjorie that her thoughts had regularly strayed to Sam Carter in the past few weeks, and she’d found herself daydreaming about the pilot rather excessively. It was somewhat unsettling that had been the case when she’d been having a bit of fun chatting to Harry.

‘You’re grieving for your friend. You’re sad and you’re a little angry,’ said Marjorie.

‘I should also go home,’ said Fitz. She didn’t know if Marjorie was right but coming to terms with the loss of Betty and Johnny, whilst simultaneously having pleasant thoughts about Sam, was confusing to say the least. She took out a few coins and slid them along the bar to her friend. ‘Drinks are on me.’

With that she headed for the door and out of the pub. She felt bad about walking out on Harry like that but Marjorie was a good stick and she’d smooth it over for her. Fitz would make it up to her friend.

When she got home, Fitz made herself a cup of warm cocoa and took herself up to bed. An hour or so later she was still awake but pretended to be asleep when Marjorie and Elsie crept into the room. She didn’t want to talk tonight. Her emotions were all over the place and she didn’t know how she felt about anything, least of all how she even felt about herself.

The following morning when Fitz woke, she only felt slightly better than she had after the pub.

She rolled over and Marjorie was already dressed. She was always the first one up. Elsie’s bed was empty and Fitz assumed she was in the bathroom.

‘Sorry about last night,’ said Fitz, pushing her hands under her pillow.

‘You don’t have to apologise to me,’ said Marjorie, checking her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.

Fitz sighed and pulled the blanket over her head for a moment, before shoving it back down. ‘It wasn’t very gracious of me to run out on Harry like that,’ she said, remembering with clarity what had happened.

‘He was somewhat perplexed.’ Marjorie slid another pin into her hair. ‘I explained you’d had bad news and he was all right in the end. In fact, he said next time he was here, be sure to catch up with him again.’

‘Sorry about dumping that on you,’ said Fitz, sitting up as Elsie came into the room.

‘Oh, our resident heartbreaker is awake.’ Elsie dropped her wash bag on to the bed. ‘Another casualty you notched up last night.’

‘Don’t,’ said Fitz. ‘Anyway, Marjorie just told me he was fine.’

‘Spoilsport,’ said Elsie. ‘He was very nice. In fact, you might have competition the next time he turns up.’ She gave her friend a wink.

‘Be my guest,’ said Fitz with a smile.

‘Yes. Don’t let a nice lad like him anywhere near Fitz. She’s more than a match for him,’ said Marjorie. ‘Now, Fitz, get ready, otherwise you’re going to miss breakfast. You know how Mrs Temple is a stickler for mealtimes.’

Although Fitz’s heart was heavy with the news she’d received about Johnny, she reminded herself of her promise to live life to the full and not to waste any days she had on this earth.

‘It won’t take me long to get ready,’ said Fitz, hopping out of bed. She might always be the last one up, but she was never late and within ten minutes she was washed and dressed, following her friends downstairs to breakfast.

Fitz’s day turned out to be a busy one as she ferried planes from Hamble to Essex and then on to Manchester. She was away for three days in all and was grateful to get back to the lodgings where she was billeted.

The few days away had given her a chance to think about the letters she’d got from home and that evening, she penned her reply to Michael.

Dear Michael

I hope this letter finds you well. Thanks so much for your letter. It was so nice to hear from you.

I haven’t flown over Badcombe yet, but when I do, I’ll be sure to let you know. Now that I’m qualified to fly, I’ve been billeted in a house near to the ferry pool in Hamble with two other girls – Marjorie and Elsie. My new address is as above so make sure you write to there in future.

My favourite plane to fly is the Tiger Moth and as you know I was already flying that before I joined the ATA so that has been very simple and straightforward for me. I’ve enclosed a photograph of me standing in front of the aircraft with my uniform on. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so proud.

I promise as soon as I have a day free, I’ll come and visit or if I fly into Bassingbourn airfield I might have time to see you at Badcombe. We only get two days off a fortnight so it doesn’t leave much time I’m afraid.

Don’t worry about what you heard Cook and Annie talking about. They do like a gossip sometimes. I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t even about your mother.

The house will be jolly full with everyone who is coming to stay, but it will be good for you to have someone your own age to play with. I do hope it all works out well.

Anyway, must dash.

Love from

G

She hoped Michael would be appeased by her explanation of what Cook had meant about his mother. Fitz didn’t want to make a big thing out of it and by simply explaining it away, she hoped Michael would forget all about it. She didn’t want him worrying and it wasn’t her place to explain what Cook meant, especially as she had no idea if it were true or not.

Nor did she mention Johnny Fisher’s passing to Michael in case their father hadn’t told him. She didn’t want to burden the boy with anything else to fret over.

She folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope which she addressed and placed next to the one she’d already written to her father the day before while she had been away.

‘Oh, there you are, Fitz,’ said Marjorie coming into the bedroom that they shared. ‘Elsie and I are going down to The Three Feathers, fancy coming?’

‘Oh yes. I’ll come. I need to post these two letters to Michael and my father so I can do it on the way.’

‘Don’t you ever write to your stepmother?’ asked Marjorie, glancing at the two letters on the bureau.

Fitz looked up at her friend and gave a shrug. ‘No, but then she never writes to me.’

‘I suppose one of you has to write first.’ Marjorie fixed her with a gaze. ‘Why don’t you like your stepmother?’

‘It’s not that I don’t like her, it’s more that she doesn’t like me,’ said Fitz, getting to her feet and checking her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.

‘You know that for a fact?’

‘I do as it happens. She wanted to send me off to Scotland. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I was just glad I got in the ATA before that happened.’ She smoothed down her hair and then applied her red lipstick. ‘Anyway, what’s with all the questions?’

‘I just wondered,’ said Marjorie. ‘You don’t talk about her much.’

‘Well, now you know why.’ Fitz pressed her lips together and dabbed on a little more lipstick. ‘She’s a lot younger than my father. Closer to my age, actually.’

‘Maybe that’s why you find it difficult,’ said Marjorie. ‘Maybe she finds it difficult. Maybe she doesn’t know whether to be your friend or your mother.’

‘She’ll never be my mother,’ said Fitz, becoming a little irritated at the questioning from Marjorie.

‘Perhaps you should let her be your friend instead?’

Fitz turned to Marjorie. ‘I don’t want to be her friend, either. Now, can we stop talking about her? Otherwise it will put me in a bad mood.’

‘Right you are,’ said Marjorie, picking up Fitz’s jacket and tossing it to her. ‘Come on, they’ll be ringing for last orders if we don’t get a move on.’

As they made their way to the pub, Fitz’s conversation with Marjorie nagged at the back of her mind. In particular, the comment that either Fitz or Camilla had to write first. Was Camilla waiting for Fitz to send her a letter as an invitation to write back? Surely, Camilla should initiate the communication. The more Fitz thought about it, the less certain she became of what was protocol.

It was something of a surprise to Fitz when, a couple of weeks after her conversation with Marjorie, she received a letter from Camilla.

She opened it with a certain amount of trepidation, initially worried that it might be bad news but as she read the flowing cursive writing, she found herself stunned, rather than shocked.

Camilla Fitz-Herbert

Badcombe House

Little Badcombe

Cambridgeshire

2nd June, 1941

Dear Geraldine

I hope you don’t mind my writing to you but I’m not sure when we will see each other again and there’s been something playing on my mind, that really can’t wait.

The other day, when I was tidying Michael’s room, I happened to see the recent letter you sent him. I wasn’t prying but I said to Michael how nice it was you’d written to him. He eagerly showed me the letter. When I got to the final paragraph where you said Cook had probably been gossiping, I asked Michael what you meant. He must have forgotten about that part in the letter. He was very reluctant to tell me, but he did in the end.

I rather wished I hadn’t asked him but there I was, faced with questions that needed answers and I feel it’s only right that you know too.

What Cook said was true. I did indeed have a child before Michael, with your father. Tragically, I was unable to carry her to full term and she was stillborn at six months. A beautiful little girl who we named Isabelle. I was devastated, as was your father. Cook was very kind to me and I’m not sure without her strength and compassion I would have recovered so well.

You were only young at the time and I’d had a troublesome pregnancy. The baby was small, and I wasn’t really showing, so we hadn’t yet told you the news. Afterwards, we wanted to shield you from what we’d been through so never told you.

It is something we have never spoken about since. Despite that, the loss has weighed heavy on my heart since. We were overjoyed and felt blessed when Michael entered the world a healthy boy, but I have never forgotten Isabelle. And I never will.

Some people said I was lucky to have you, that you could be the daughter I’d lost but both you and I know, grief doesn’t work like that. And I would never bestow that burden on you. A person, a deeply loved person, can never be replaced.

I wish I could have spoken to you about this before, but you were too young at the time and as the years rolled by, it never felt the right time to tell you. I’m so very sorry you found out this way and I hope you will understand why I never told you. I didn’t want to burden you with more unhappiness.

Take care.

Fondest love

Camilla

P.S. I’d rather keep this just between us as I don’t want to upset your father, so maybe best if we don’t mention this again. I simply wanted you to know.

Fitz sat down on the edge of her bed as she took a moment to take in what she’d just read. Fortunately, she was alone that morning as it was her day off but both Marjorie and Elsie were working.

She had never expected Camilla to write to her, and never in a million years thought her stepmother would tell her about such a tragic time in her life. All Fitz could think was how terribly heartbreaking it must have been for her father and Camilla.

Fitz cast her gaze over the words again, carefully reading the paragraph where Camilla spoke about someone never being replaced. It was obvious she was not only referring to her own grief but to Fitz’s, too. And Fitz had never given her credit for that sentiment. Gosh, she felt terribly selfish.

She deliberated for a good thirty minutes how to respond but in the end decided to respect Camilla’s wishes not to mention it in a letter so as not to upset her father. She would have to wait until she saw Camilla again and thank her privately.