‘I think it’s Folkestone they’re headed for, sir,’ Rosemary declared.
Scott-Farnie nodded sagely. ‘I’ll get onto Group.’
‘Wait,’ Elsie said, holding up her hand. ‘I think it’s Dover, not Folkestone.’
‘Either way, we’ve got at least twenty Messerschmitts heading towards us,’ Scott-Farnie said, hurrying to the telephone at the back of the room.
‘What makes you think it’s Dover?’ Rosemary demanded, unable to hide her consternation at being questioned in front of the boss.
‘Ich kann beinahe, meinen Lieblingsmarktplatz sehen,’ Elsie answered. ‘I can almost see my favourite market place. It was Sparrow Four who said it—he used that phrase the last time they hit Dover.’
Rosemary seemed unconvinced and turned back to her receiver. ‘We’ll see.’
Then the air raid siren began its deafening wail, each screaming crescendo draining the power from the house and pulling the light from the room. It was something that had taken Elsie by surprise the first time that it had occurred, but now she was used to writing by the soft vanilla glow of the receiver dials.
Elsie pushed the headset tighter to her ear, seeking sense in the audible chaos. Out of the metallic muddle she managed to locate Sparrow Four’s bawdy Bavarian accent. She scribbled down his words exactly as he said them. Das Kino ist schön. Trompeten. Below that she wrote the direct translation: The cinema is good. Trumpets. Then she wrote the operational meaning: Good visibility. Target identified. They were closing in. From their current position, there was no way they were about to attack Folkestone. ‘It is—it’s Dover!’ Elsie shrieked. ‘Where are our fighters, for goodness’ sake?’
Scott-Farnie paced the floor behind her. ‘I told Group to get our boys up…we’ve just got to be patient.’
At 12.18pm, eight minutes after the sirens had first begun, the raid on Dover commenced. Elsie flinched as the first explosion rang through her headset, echoing a millisecond later in the room. The cottage trembled slightly, rattling the machines at which the women worked.
‘Come on!’ Elsie called, willing the planes up from the nearby aerodrome, as another bomb struck. She continued to listen, undaunted, as all the while the room was being sucked in and out of darkness with the rhythmical moan of the air raid siren.
Joining the brutal and savage cacophony was the opening up of the chain of anti-aircraft batteries stationed along the coast; the low thudding of their return-fire pumped into the hot summer sky.
More explosions shook the cottage. One after another.
Elsie closed her eyes for a moment, praying that each bomb had fallen harmlessly in open countryside or had only destroyed empty, evacuated homes. Then came the two words that signalled that it was all over: Sieg Heil. Hail victory. She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and added those definitive words to the log sheet.
Radio silence.
The Bofor guns stopped.
Elsie threw down her headset.
Then, finally, at twelve-thirty pm, she heard the sound that she had longed to hear: British aircraft roaring up from the aerodrome. She realised then that she had been holding her breath, as she counted the aircraft into the air. Nine, she made it, exhaling at length. The planes flew low, seeming to make their turn out to sea directly above the cottage. Then the grumbling of their engines began to fade.
‘Home time, Finch,’ Scott-Farnie barked. ‘And you, Noble.’
Elsie and Susie glanced at each other, knowing better than to argue. Their shift had officially ended at eight am, but they had volunteered to stay on.
With a yawn and stretch, Elsie collected her belongings and made her way outside, shortly followed by Susie. The racket from the siren was deafening but there was little point in seeking shelter, knowing that the Jerries would practically be back on their bases in France by now. The all-clear would sound at any moment.
‘Christ, my muscles feel like tightropes,’ Elsie called above the din, rolling her head around her shoulders and flexing her fingers. With trembling and cramped hands, she just about managed to open her packet of cigarettes. ‘Want one?’
Susie nodded and plucked one from the pack. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, collecting her bicycle from the usual untidy heap beside the cottage. ‘Well, that was a bit intense today.’
‘I just feel so helpless,’ Elsie said, puffing out short, shallow breaths of smoke. ‘I wish Group would get their act together and get our planes up there more quickly.’
Susie nodded but said nothing, and Elsie placed her hand in the small of her back, suddenly realising how hard it must be for her. The last thing that she would want, was her boyfriend up there, a hair’s breadth between survival and death.
As usual, they headed to the tea van. Annie greeted them with a big, toothy grin. ‘Afternoon, ladies,’ she yelled, ‘shouldn’t you be in the shelter?’
‘Shouldn’t you?’ Elsie returned with a smile.
‘They’ll have to carry me in at gunpoint!’ Annie chirped, wiping greasy hands on her apron. ‘I’m not going to let my boys down. Or girls, for that matter. What can I get you?’
Annie spoke to Susie but her question was met with a vacant expression.
‘Two teas and two ham sandwiches, please,’ Elsie said, stepping up to the counter. Susie was fixed on the aerodrome gates, then she turned back to Annie. ‘Do you know what just went up?’
Annie frowned and thought for a moment. ‘Defiants, I think they were. Getting quite the expert, I am!’
Elsie watched as the light returned to Susie’s eyes and colour flushed in her cheeks. Evidently her boyfriend was not a Defiant pilot.
