By now, everyone knew that war would be declared any day, and when it finally happened on 3rd September there was almost a sense of relief in the air. Now they could get on with things. Some of the patients even cheered.
Dee kept smiling, but when she was alone she slipped away into the hospital chapel and sat there, thinking of Mark, wondering what the future held.
Her exams came and went. Later, she could barely remember taking them, but she passed well and was offered a permanent job at the hospital.
Congratulations abounded. Matron told her she’d always known it would happen. Mr Royce, no longer a distant figure of authority, approached her in the canteen and insisted on buying her a cup of tea ‘to celebrate’.
Mark managed to make it back for a small family celebration, but most of the day was spent building the Anderson shelter. These shelters were made of sheets of corrugated iron, bolted together at the top, with steel plates at either end. They were set up in the garden, sunk as far as possible in the earth, for greater safety.
‘I’m not sleeping in that thing,’ Helen declared. ‘We’ll be better off in the house.’
‘Not if they start to bomb this part of London,’ Mark murmured.
He was reticent on the subject of his own sorties. Hitler was invading Europe, the British army had advanced in return and the Air Force was deployed to assist them. These bare facts were common knowledge, and beyond them he would say little.
The closest he came to revealing his feelings was as they were walking to the bus stop in the late afternoon. Nearby was a church, from which a couple was just emerging. The groom wore an army uniform. Instead of a wedding gown the bride wore a modest functional dress, only the flower on her shoulder suggesting that today was special.
‘Is something the matter?’ Mark asked, seeing her frown with concentration.
‘No, I’m just trying to remember where I’ve seen her before. Ah, yes, she works in the bakery three streets away.’
The bride saw her and waved. Dee waved back.
‘He’s probably just home on leave for a few days and they won’t have a honeymoon,’ she reflected. ‘There are so many of these quick weddings happening now.’
She didn’t press it further, leaving it up to Mark whether he seized the point and pressed for a wedding of their own. He was silent for a moment and she crossed her fingers.
‘Too many,’ he said at last.
‘What…what did you say?’
‘There are too many of these mad weddings. He’ll go away tomorrow and she may never see him again. If she does, he’ll be changed, maybe disfigured.’
‘But if she loved him she wouldn’t be put off by his disfigurement.’
‘She thinks she wouldn’t. They all say that, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. The other day I met a man who was a pilot in the last war. His face had been destroyed by fire.’
Through her hand tucked under his arm, Dee felt the faint shudder that went through him.
‘He hadn’t seen his wife in years,’ Mark continued. ‘He didn’t blame her. He said you couldn’t expect a woman to endure looking at him day after day.’
‘But he was still the same man inside,’ Dee said, almost pleading.
‘But he wasn’t. How could he be? How could you face that fire and be the same inside?’
Again there was the shudder, stronger now, and her hand tightened in sympathy. These days she seemed to understand him better with every moment that passed, and she knew that he would die rather than admit to being afraid.
At first there had been no need to fear. Everything was beginning in sunlight and hope as the planes soared up and over Europe to tackle Hitler’s invasion. But it soon became clear that the enemy had more powerful planes, and the British losses began to mount up. Mark was unscathed, but some of his friends weren’t so lucky.
He hadn’t told her, but she knew of two airmen whose bravery had resulted in the award of Victoria Crosses. But they never saw these tributes. They had died in action.
Now she had sensed the things that he could never put into words, and knew that secretly he dreaded fire more than anything else. More than pain. More than death. Fire.
‘Maybe she won’t be the same inside, either,’ she said. ‘Maybe she’ll just be what he needs her to be.’
He gave a sharp, ironic laugh. ‘If he’s there at all. Suppose he dies and leaves her with a child to rear alone? Suppose she has no family left, and is really alone with a child she-is that the bus I can see in the distance?’
‘Yes,’ she said sadly.
‘Time to go, then. Congratulations again on passing your exams. I’ll be in touch and we’ll try to see each other again soon.’
The bus was there. An arm around her shoulder, a quick kiss on the mouth, and he was gone.
She didn’t return home at once, but walked the streets as the light faded. Now she had her answer. There would be no early marriage, and perhaps no marriage at all. He’d expressed his refusal as consideration for her, and it sounded sensible enough, except that he didn’t love her and needed a good excuse.
But then she remembered the echo from his own past, how he’d started to speak of the woman left alone with a child who she-and then he’d broken off. Who she-what? Couldn’t cope with? Didn’t love? What would he have said if the bus hadn’t appeared at that moment? Would he tell her one day? Or would she be left to wonder all her life?
They managed a brief meeting over Christmas, but then time flashed by and it was 1940. As the months passed the prospect grew darker. Neville Chamberlain, a sick man, resigned in May to be replaced as Prime Minister by Winston Churchill.
Dee’s new job was demanding. She put in as much overtime as she could, preferring to work to exhaustion rather than have too many hours to brood.
‘Working long hours is praiseworthy, of course,’ Mr Royce said, placing a mug of tea in front of her in the canteen. ‘But if you’re too exhausted you’re useless to the patients.’
Dee opened her eyes and regarded him with a sleepy smile. She respected him greatly but her awe had been softened by liking. He was in his late forties, with hair already greying and a pleasant, gentle manner.
‘I know,’ she said, taking the mug thankfully. ‘I’m leaving in a minute.’
‘Do you manage to see much of your fiance?’
‘Not for a couple of weeks, although I hope he’ll manage to visit us soon. The airfield isn’t so far away, but of course he’s mostly on call. I know I’m one of the lucky ones, because I do get to see him sometimes. The ones I feel sorry for are the women whose men are in the army, stationed in France, because they say Hitler is advancing.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Mr Royce said casually, ‘I can give you some news of Mark. They say he’s making a name for himself, a brave and skilful pilot. You should be proud of him.’
‘Thank you for telling me,’ Dee said.
She didn’t ask how he knew. It was common knowledge in the hospital that he had friends in high places. One rumour even said he had a cousin in the government, although nobody knew for sure. It briefly occurred to Dee to wonder how his knowledge extended as far as this one airfield, but she was too tired to think much of it.
‘Mark’s very pleased with himself at the moment,’ she said, ‘because when Winston Churchill became Prime Minister he was able to say, “I told you so”.’
‘He actually predicted it?’
‘Not exactly, but he used to say that Churchill was the only one who knew what he was talking about.’
‘That’s true. Now, go home and get some sleep.’
At home she found Helen fuming, as she’d done for several weeks. There was a problem with food stocks, as ships bringing food to Britain were sunk by enemy submarines. To make supplies stretch, further ration books had been issued, directing how much could be eaten in a week.
‘Four ounces of bacon,’ Helen declared in disgust, ‘two ounces of cheese, three pints of milk. And I have to hand over the ration book and they tear out coupons showing I’ve had this week’s allowance and I can’t have any more until I hand over next week’s coupons.’
‘It’s to make sure everyone gets a fair share, Mum,’ Dee explained. ‘Otherwise, the folk with money would buy
