Where the Heart Is Read online

  The lights and noise of proper rescuers were closer now but Lou knew that she couldn’t wait for them. Desperately she held on to the pilot and rolled them both with the last of her strength as far from the plane as she could, grimacing against the pain in her hands as she did so.

  Flame had engulfed the plane, the heat intense, the smell of aviation fuel heavy on the air. When the fuel tank ignited with a fierce crumping sound, Lou pushed the pilot to the ground and flung herself protectively over him. Something–a spark or a piece of burning wreckage–hit the back of her leg, the pain stinging, sharp and so intense that momentarily she thought she might pass out.

  Then help was there, people scrambling over the fence as she had done earlier to get to them, a crisp male voice reaching through her sickening dizziness to announce, ‘Atta girl. Just keep still for us for a minute and we’ll soon have you on a stretcher. Careful with her,’ the voice continued. ‘Her hands are burned and there’s what looks like a piece of ruddy fuselage in her leg.’

  A stretcher. Burns … fuselage in her leg? Lou was indignant. She was perfectly all right, and she was determined to say so.

  ‘I don’t need a stretcher. I can walk. It’s the pilot who needs help,’ she began, but then out of nowhere pain overwhelmed her, and she blacked out.

  ‘I’m really glad that Wilhelm has come back. I missed him, and I don’t care what Davey Burrows says.’

  Emily looked at Tommy’s downbent head with maternal concern. ‘Well, of course not.’

  Obviously encouraged by this support Tommy continued, ‘Davey Burrows says that it’s treason to like a German, and that if I don’t watch out Wilhelm will put me in an oven and burn me to death like Hitler is doing all the Jews.’

  Emily put down the carrot she was dicing for their evening meal. ‘It would only be treason if you were telling Wilhelm things about this country that might put us all at risk,’ she told Tommy firmly. ‘And then of course Wilhelm would have to pass what you told him on to someone in Germany who could use that information against us. You and I know, because Wilhelm had told us, that he didn’t really want to become a soldier and fight for Hitler. He can’t pass any information on to anyone even if he wanted to, because we’ve got censors checking everything that everyone writes. He wanted to stay on the farm. And as for what Hitler is doing to the poor Jews …’

  Emily sighed. Tommy was such a quick, bright boy and of course children were bound to talk about what they heard their parents discussing. People naturally were horrified by the dreadful stories coming out about the death camps to which Jews were being sent.

  Putting her arm round Tommy’s shoulders, she drew him closer to her. ‘Now you listen to me, Tommy. You know how much I love you, don’t you?’

  Immediately he nodded.

  ‘And you know too that I’d never let anything bad happen to you?’

  Now he said hesitantly, ‘Grown-ups say that but sometimes bad things happen that they can’t stop happening. They can’t promise.’

  Emily’s heart was wrung with protective love for him. Who knew what terrible dreadful things he had experienced before she had found him? He never talked about his past, and she never asked, but something must have happened to have made him mute like he had been when she had first found him scavenging in the rubbish behind the Royal Court Theatre.

  ‘That’s true, Tommy,’ she felt obliged to answer him honestly. ‘But I can promise you that I will always do my utmost to keep you safe. I love you and there’s no one and nothing that will ever mean more to me than you do.’ Still holding him to her, she exhaled and told him, ‘If Wilhelm coming here bothers you in any kind of way, then you just tell me and I shall tell the farmer not to send him any more.’

  ‘No. I want him to come. I like him. Davey Burrows is daft; everyone knows that.’ Tommy’s voice was scornful now.

  What she had said to him had obviously banished whatever it was that had been preying on his mind, Emily decided, relieved, her relief turning to a rueful smile when he added, ‘We aren’t having carrots again, are we? Only it’s light nights now and I won’t need to see in the dark.’

  ‘Well, the thing about carrots is that you needto keep on eating them to make them work,’ Emily informed him, watching as he digested her statement without comment.

  ‘You know what I think?’ Tommy asked her sagely, looking pleased with himself, obviously having accepted that he was not going to win the war over the carrots. ‘I think that Davey Burrows is only saying those things about Wilhelm because Wilhelm has been teaching me to play football, and I got two goals right past Davey.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’re right, Tommy, and that could have something to do with it,’ Emily agreed, hiding her smile.

  It had been lovely having Wilhelm coming round again, but if having him here upset her Tommy in any way, then Wilhelm would have to go, despite the sharp pang the thought of that caused. Tommy wasn’t just any boy–he was special, he was hers, given to her by the war. He had filled her empty heart and her equally empty life and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.

  ELEVEN

  Lou was tired of having to stay in bed in Halston’s medical unit in the grounds of the base, under the stern eye of a medical orderly, who wouldn’t so much as let her put a foot down on the floor unless the doc sanctioned it.

  She was wearing ‘blues’, as the regulation pyjamas were known, her hair cut short because it had been so badly singed on one side, the new style giving her face an elfin appeal.

  The burns on her hands had healed well, although the skin was tight and tender. The worst of the burns had been on the backs of her hands and her arms, which meant that she was still able to use her fingers properly, and would be able to continue with her training, much to her relief.

  The surgeon who had removed the piece of fuselage from the back of her leg had, according to the RAF MO, done an exceptionally neat job of ‘sewing her up’ so that she would have only a very small scar.

  ‘You were lucky.’ The MO had told her. ‘A tenth of an inch further in and it would have severed an artery.’

  The pilot whose life everyone said she had saved would also make a full recovery, and the men who had bailed out were all also all right, although one of them had a broken leg and another a broken shoulder.

  Lou hadn’t been informed of any of this officially; that wasn’t the RAF’s way. Instead she had been told in snippets of information whispered to her during the many visits she had had from the other girls in her hut.

  It had been a shock to come round from her operation to find not just the corp standing by her bedside, but, even more astonishingly, Halton’s most senior WAAF officer, and the base’s C-in-C.

  Nauseous from the gas used to anaesthetise her, her head pounding and her recall of what had happened confused and vague, Lou had wondered what on earth they were talking about at first when they had praised her for her quick action and her courage.

  ‘Corp’s got her chest puffed out with pride, and you’re a real heroine,’ Betty had told her when she had managed to sneak a visit to Lou’s bedside in the otherwise empty medical ward.

  ‘I didn’t mean to be,’ Lou had replied. ‘I just saw the plane and the pilot, and I just did everything automatically without stopping to think.’

  ‘Well, everyone’s saying that if it hadn’t been for you being there and your quick thinking the pilot would have been a goner. And he isn’t just any old pilot, you know. He’s a squadron leader and an honourable,’ Betty had informed her.

  Lou didn’t really care about any of that. She was just glad that he was still alive.

  She’d been well and truly spoiled since she’d been in here, she admitted, with special meals sent over to tempt her appetite, and yesterday a parcel had arrived, sent anonymously, but containing thirty bars of Fry’s Chocolate Cream–one for each of the girls in the hut, Lou guessed–and, as everyone knew that prior to being sent on an op the Bomber crews were given a special meal that included a ba
r of Fry’s, it hadn’t been hard to guess that the chocolate had come from the squadron leader’s pals.

  Lou had written home, explaining what had happened, but playing everything down so as not to worry her mother, and there’d been a positive flood of letters back, from her parents, from Grace, from Sasha, of course, and even from Cousin Bella, all wishing her well and telling her to hurry up and get better.

  She’d been told that once she had been declared medically fit she was being given some special leave so that she could go home and see her family. Lou wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her mother would certainly have something to say about her being too impulsive and taking unnecessary risks.

  It was a pity that she was the only occupant of the small ward, Lou reflected. She could have done with some company, although not perhaps the company of Sister Wilson, she acknowledged, as this rather formidable-looking individual came in.

  Sister Wilson had been the kindest and most sympathetic person when she had been feeling really poorly, seeming to understand, without Lou needingto say anything, how uncomfortable the sometimes scratchy sheets felt against her burned skin, but now that Lou was well on the way to recovery Sister Wilson had turned into a gaoler, determined that her patient was going to stay within the rigid confines of her bed with its bedding pulled so tight into hospital corners that it was like a strait-jacket, instead of doing what Lou would much have preferred to be doing, which was getting up to go and look out of the window to see what was going on outside on the base, and teasing the nurse on duty to let her friends come in to see her outside visiting times.

  Now, summoning a nurse to pull the screens round her bed, Sister Wilson told Lou briskly, ‘You’re about to have an important visitor. Nurse Allington here will help you into clean pyjamas, and remember, you might be in hospital but you are still in uniform.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ Lou asked the nurse when Sister had gone.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ the nurse replied unconvincingly as she buttoned Lou into a clean pyjama jacket and then told her, ‘You’ll have to put this on,’ handing her the red tie that Waafs were supposed to wear with their blue pyjamas when in hospital.

  ‘A tie? What do I need a tie for?’ Lou demanded, but the nurse didn’t answer her. Instead she was plumping up extra pillows and putting them behind Lou’s back so that she was forced to sit up in bed almost bolt upright, before whisking away her old pyjamas and then removing the screens.

  Lou didn’t have long to wait to discover what all the fuss was about. The nurse had barely disappeared in the direction of the sluice room when Sister reappeared, standing formally to attention at the entrance to the ward, and then saluting as the doors opened and a several people came in, including the MO, the senior WAAF officer, and the base’s C-in-C, along with two other men, one of them in RAF uniform, and the other … the other was surely the most immediately recognisable man in the country, his familiar cigar clamped in his mouth, his bald head shining beneath the ward lights, bringing into the ward with him an air of energy and determination. Winston Churchill. The man whose stirring speeches had brought the whole country hope in its darkest moments. Now Lou was glad of the hard pillows stiffening her spine. Automatically as the party approached her bed, she saluted, only dropping her hand and arm when her own commanding officer ordered, ‘At ease.’

  It was the Prime Minister who spoke next, turning to the C-in-C, speaking in that famous voice, which sent a thrill of disbelief through her that this wonderful man, a hero to the whole nation, should be here at her bedside. If only Sasha could have been with her to share in this moment.

  ‘Well, Commander, this is heart-stirring news indeed to learn that one of the many young women who obeyed the call to serve her country has comported herself with such quick-thinking and bravery, not just saving another’s life, but showing that spirit that I have always said will enable us to defeat our enemies.’

  Then to Lou’s astonishment the Prime Minister held out his hand to her. Lou stared at it, for a second too transfixed with awe and disbelief to do anything,until a timely warning cough from her commanding officer had her extending her own hand so that it could be shaken by the Prime Minister.

  ‘Very well done, young lady. You are a credit to Halton and to the service.’

  Lou’s ‘visitors’ had gone, the pillows had been removed, and the nurse, far more ready to talk now than she had been earlier, was agog with what had happened.

  ‘Just fancy, the Prime Minister asking to see you, ‘cos of him hearing about what you did, and not just the Prime Minister, but the head of Bomber Command as well.’

  So that was Sir Arthur Harris who had been with the Prime Minister, the Head of Bomber Command himself!

  Of course Lou couldn’t help but bask in the glory of what had happened. A constant stream of visitors, having heard in the way of such things about the august visitation to her bedside, were prepared to brave the wrath of Sister, who astonishingly, and in direct contradiction of her normal modus operandi, was nowhere to be seen when these small groups of uniformed Waafs peered eagerly into the ward and then made a concerted dash to Lou’s bed. Turning a blind eye to the rules on this scale was unheard of, and Lou, as much as her visitors, made the most of it. Time was hanging heavily on Lou’s hands now that she was a convalescent, and the companionship of the other girls was very welcome, although she did begin to tireof saying truthfully, ‘There isn’t much to tell, honestly.’

  ‘You mean to say that Winnie didn’t sit down and discuss strategy with you or confide his plans to you?’ Betty, who had taken up an almost permanent post at Lou’s bedside, teased, rescuing her from the ever-persistent question when it had been asked for the umpteenth time.

  It was only when her own special pals had been there for over an hour, Betty, Ruby and Ellen all sitting on her bed, and just after Ruby had asked her hopefully, ‘You haven’t had any more parcels of those Fry’s Chocolate Cream bars, have you?’ that a nurse appeared, warning them all, ‘Sister’s on her way and there’ll be a devil of a fuss if she finds you lot here.’

  Watching the swift disappearance of WAAF uniforms and the smiling faces of her friends, Lou felt her own spirits sink a little. It had been such fun having them here. She missed their company, and she missed her training as well, she admitted.

  She said as much later when the MO came round to check the wound on her leg whilst the dressing was being removed and a fresh one put in place.

  ‘The sergeant in charge of your workshop isn’t going to want you back until you’re fully fit and can stand on that leg properly,’ was Sister’s stern comment after the MO had gone, having announced that Lou was to start exercising in the gym on her return from her compassionate leave, which was to start in two days’ time.

  ‘But if I can go in the gym then I could at least go and watch what Sergeant Benson is teaching everyone,’ Lou wheedled.

  When they had visited her, the other girls on her course had been talking about their progress and the ‘practical work’ they were about to start doing on real planes in the hangars, and Lou desperately wanted to be a part of that. She wasn’t going to say anything in case it made her look soppy, but the Prime Minister’s visit and what he had said had doubled her determination to do her bit and to do it well. What she wanted, Lou recognised, was to be the best WAAF mechanic there was, and she couldn’t do that stuck here in bed whilst the other girls were getting on with practising what they had learned.

  ‘You’ll be no use to Sergeant Benson or anyone else until that leg’s been passed fit for duty,’ was Sister’s unsympathetic response.

  The visits from her chums, plus Sister’s comments, and of course the heady words of praise from Winnie himself, which were still floating inside her head, fired Lou with determination to get back to her training.

  As she was the only ‘poorly’ occupant of the ward, it was easy enough for her to wait until Sister was doing her regular round on the RAF ward, and the nurse on duty
was out of the way, to scramble out of bed and then, using the bed itself and the chair to one side of it, attempt to walk properly.

  Normally the only time she had been allowed out of bed had been under Sister’s eagle eye, when intially she had been permitted to hop her way to the ablutions with her injured leg bent and a nurse’s arm to learn on, and then more latterly to do a turn up and down the ward using crutches.

  Being in the WAAF had taught Lou a lot; perhapsmost importantly of all it had taught her to take responsibility for her own actions. Thus whilst the old Lou would have immediately ignored the risk of additional damage to her injured leg, and perhaps even have relished the fuss her recklessness would have caused, much as she wanted to be properly back on her feet, the Lou she had become wasn’t going to risk putting her recovery back by being reckless, ‘showing off’ as Lou herself now thought of it.

  Instead, carefully testing her way and holding on to the back of the chair, with the wall behind her she tried to straighten her leg, stopping when pain gripped her weak muscles, and then cautiously trying again.

  By the time she had finally got her foot flat on the floor, sweat was dampening her palms and her leg muscles felt as though they were on fire, but a quick look down over her shoulder assured her that her wound hadn’t opened up and started to bleed, so using the chair as a support she started to move slowly forward.

  The pain in her leg was excruciating and the healing burns on her hands and arms were stinging like mad, but when she finally reached the end of her bed, Lou felt light-headed with triumph and delight.

  Her delight, though, quickly vanished when just as she was turning round she heard Sister’s voice calling sharply, ‘Nurse!’