up the lot.’
‘That’s all very well, but Mark’s coming next weekend. How can we feed him properly?’
‘I think he’ll understand the problem.’
She was counting the minutes until she would see Mark, but the day before he was due to arrive the telephone rang.
‘I can’t come tomorrow,’ he said. ‘All leave has been cancelled.’
‘But why?’
‘I don’t know, and I couldn’t tell you if I did. But something big’s happening, take my word.’
That was the first she heard of Dunkirk.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DUNKIRK: May 1940, a name and a date that were to become inscribed in history, but in fact few details came out at the time. It was only in hindsight that it was possible to see the story as a whole, how British and French soldiers had been driven back through France until they reached the harbour of Dunkirk, where, over nine days, more than three hundred thousand of them were rescued by a fleet of ships that had crossed the channel from England. Some were Royal Navy destroyers, but many were small vessels, merchant ships, fishing boats, lifeboats, and these were the ones that passed into legend.
Enemy planes bombarded the evacuation, and were fought off by the Royal Air Force.
‘They saved thousands of lives,’ Mr Royce told her, ‘but their own losses were terrible, over four hundred planes. Do you have any news of Mark?’
‘Yes, he called me several times to say he was all right. I’m glad I knew that before I heard about those losses. Thank goodness it’s over now.’
‘Dee, it’s not over, it hasn’t begun. Who do you think will be attacked next?’
‘Us,’ she said slowly. ‘In this country.’
A few days later she, like many others, sat by the radio, listening to Churchill confirming their worst fears: ‘The battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin… The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us.’
And the front line of defence would be the Air Force.
By day she threw herself into her work, seeing Mark in every patient, finding her only solace in devoting herself to their care. At night she lay in the darkness, whispering, ‘Come back to me,’ and holding the little bear he’d won for her at the fair.
Now their contact was almost nil. When he could manage to telephone, the call would come when she was at work. She would arrive home to hear Helen say, ‘He called. Says everything’s fine and he sends his love.’
‘Sends his love.’ It was a neutral phrase that anyone might have used, but she treasured it nonetheless.
Mr Royce had been right in his prediction. Three weeks after Dunkirk, the Channel Islands were invaded. Two weeks later, the enemy bombers arrived over England and the Air Force was in action against them, fighting them back so ferociously that Churchill paid a public tribute that went down in history.
‘Never in the field of human conflict,’ he said to a packed House of Commons, ‘was so much owed by so many to so few.’
The pilots were the heroes of the hour. Pictures appeared in the press showing young men, leaning casually against their planes, laughing as though danger was just something they took in their stride.
Mostly the pictures were groups, but occasionally one pilot was shown alone. That was how Dee first saw the photograph of Mark, perched on the wing of his Spitfire, relaxed and clearly exhilarated by the life he led.
‘You’d think they hadn’t a care in the world,’ Matron observed as they studied the papers during a hurried tea break.
‘Why are they all holding up their hands like that?’ Dee wondered, looking at a group picture.
‘That’s to tell you how many enemy aircraft they’ve just shot down. Look at him.’ She pointed to Mark, who had four fingers on display. ‘You can see he’s proud of himself.’
Then she gave a laugh. ‘I wonder if there are any plain middle-aged pilots. If you believe the press, they’re all young, handsome and dashing.’
‘Some of them are,’ Dee murmured.
Part of her was bursting with pride, although it was undermined by terror for his life. But she knew that this simply made her one of many, and so she was shy of speaking about it.
Even with Mr Royce she was reticent, although he’d now become a trusted confidant. If she’d had thoughts to spare for him, she might have wondered at how often they chanced to meet in the canteen, but she had no thoughts for anyone but Mark.
‘How long is it since you saw him?’ Mr. Royce asked one day.
‘Weeks, but of course he can’t get leave now.’
‘But didn’t you say he was at-?’ He named the airfield. ‘Surely there’s a cafe nearby where you could wait for him to get a few minutes off. Let him know you’re there, and that you’ll wait all day if necessary.’
‘But I have to be here-’ she gasped.
‘Leave that to me. You haven’t had a day off for too long.’
By good luck, Mark chanced to call that night and she outlined the plan to him.
‘That’s wonderful!’ he said. ‘There’s a little cafe called The Warren just outside the airfield. Wait for me there.’
Mr Royce was true to his word and for one day she was free to hurry to the airfield and settle down in the cafe as soon as it was open. She bought sparingly, knowing that it might be a long wait.
After a while the place began to fill up and the woman behind the counter regarded her with suspicion, even hostility. At last she approached her, glaring.
‘I’ve got a business to run. I can’t afford to have people taking up the chairs and not buying anything. You all seem to think you can use this place as a collection point.’
‘All?’
‘You know what I mean, and don’t pretend that you don’t.’
Dee did know and was half amused, half angry. ‘Actually, I’m a nurse,’ she said, ‘and I’m waiting for my fiance.’
The woman regarded her for a moment. ‘If you’re a nurse, come and take a look at my son. He’s ten and very naughty. He cut himself this morning and he won’t let anyone look at it.’
After that, things went well. The cut turned out to be minor and easily dressed. Her hostess visibly warmed.
‘My name’s Mrs Gorton. You stay here as long as you like, and I’ll bring you something.’
She served Dee a lunchtime snack, on the house, and began to chat with her as the cafe cleared.
‘Sorry about that, but you should see some of them that come in here. I suppose it can’t be helped. Get a lot of young men together and the “good time girls” are going to…well…offer them a good time, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ Dee said.
‘And they do a lot of business, so I’m told. The newspapers don’t tell that kind of story. Oh, no, those lads are heroes so they’re all virtuous, but the two don’t go together, take my word. I could tell you things well, anyway, the girls who flaunt themselves aren’t the ones you have to worry about. It’s the ones that look respectable, like those two near the door. What time will your fiance be here?’
‘I don’t know. When he can get away. Perhaps never. No-wait-I think that’s him.’
She could just see a figure in a leather jacket coming along the street. The next moment she’d leapt to her feet and hurried out to meet him. Laughing joyfully, Mark enfolded her in a bear hug and for a few minutes she forgot everything else.
‘We’ll have to go back inside,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t move far.’
‘I don’t care where it is,’ she said fervently.
As they entered she saw Mrs Gorton rise and move back to the counter. For a moment her eyes were fixed
