Time rolled by at a brisk pace: birthdays, Christmas, New Year. And the
year 1944 brought many changes with it. Rationing was still as painful as it
always had been, but people were philosophical now about the sacrifices
that came with fighting a war.
Life was hectic for Maddie, and her duties meant that sometimes she
didn’t see her friends in the billet for days. Her new rota turned the clock on
its head as she was often on night call, working while the others slept.
Although Maddie loved driving, navigating an ambulance through the
blackout to get to people in distress could often be frightening, especially if
the sirens wailed out their warning of a raid. And now, there was a new
threat to civilians: the horrendous V-1s of the Germans. Doodlebugs, or
buzz bombs as some were calling them, were bringing back the horror of
the Blitz. Bombs with wings, that’s what they were, powered by jet engines.
And the most terrifying thing about them was that you could never tell
where they would explode. The only warning you had was when the engine
ran out of fuel and then the fearful buzzing noise would stop, and the things
would tumble from the sky. When the noise stops, run. That was the advice.
Or, if you were driving an ambulance, you just gritted your teeth, clenched
the steering wheel, and hoped that the lucky black cat sitting on the seat
beside you would work its magic. The little toy cat, the parting gift from the
wonderful nurses at Redruth hospital, had so far done its job. She’d had one
near-miss, driving through a raid, but she was still there.
Sometimes, Maddie would have company in her ambulance. A medical
orderly called Tom Winston. A fine young man with huge sad eyes and a
heavy heart. A young man who had never been to war, who believed that
mankind could resolve its conflicts through peaceful negotiation. He was a
Quaker and a conscientious objector. And although Maddie liked the young
man, and understood his brave ideals, she thought him naive. For once war
became a reality, really you had no choice but to go and fight beside the
rest. It was unfair to make others do your fighting for you. Well – wasn’t it?
Tom reminded her of Rudi Fischer. Not that they looked anything alike,
apart from their blond hair – but she remembered Rudi’s father Gunter had
the same high-minded ideals. Principles he’d had to pay for dearly.
She wasn’t sorry when Tom was transferred to other duties. His
perpetual sadness had rubbed off on her, and sometimes overcame her
natural optimism.
And there was a lot to be optimistic about. It had been a good year for
the British and the Allies. A year when they had started to believe that the
war might soon be a distant memory. A nightmare finally ended.
In June there had been a huge invasion: masses of men and equipment
had been landed on the beaches of Normandy along the French coast. They
were calling it D-Day; she didn’t know why. But the Germans were slowly
being defeated and any day now, the British and their Allies could be in
Paris.
What a day that would be! How the French would celebrate the
liberation of Paris, their beautiful capital city, occupied for the last four
years! She tried to imagine the celebration. Flags out. Parades in the streets.
People singing and dancing and hugging and kissing each other. And wine.
There was sure to be wine, for wasn’t France famous for its wine? Of
course you would celebrate. The way people in London would celebrate
when Hitler finally got what he deserved and his army, his navy, his air
force were defeated.
Rudi had been in the air force. She wondered how he would have
looked in the uniform. She wished she still had his photograph, though she
could still see his face in her head when she closed her eyes and
concentrated hard. That thin, pale face of his and the startling blue eyes. A
face that could crease in amusement and eyes that could still smile, even
after all he’d been through.
She thought of him in her quiet times, remembered that final day, how
he’d slipped away without a last goodbye. At first, she’d felt abandoned and
deprived. But now she understood how brave he’d been, to save them both
a harrowing farewell. She imagined him back home in his beloved Alps, at
that lake he’d told her about.
She prayed he’d made it that far.
Maddie yawned and forced herself to shrug away the tiredness. She got off
the bus and walked the last half-mile home in the early morning fog.
Gratefully, she turned her key in the lock and climbed the stairs, flung
herself wearily into a kitchen chair.
‘Some tea in the pot for you,’ said Gertie, cheerfully. ‘Heard those
clodhoppers of yours on the stairs.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Maddie.
‘And we’re making kites,’ said Gertie.
‘What?’
‘Kites. We been collecting newspaper and string. And Betts has nicked
some glue from the office. Trying them out on the common on Saturday
morning, early. You coming?’
‘That’s a bit strange,’ said Maddie.
‘Strange? Different, maybe,’ agreed Gertie. ‘And fun. But since when
has fun been bad?’
‘Why not?’ said Maddie. ‘And these kites, do I need to make mine?’
‘Already done,’ said Betty.
‘You’re a star, Betts,’ said Maddie.
‘We aims to please, ma’am.’ Betty Wooten tugged her forelock.
And they all laughed. The trusty trio of musketeers. Good friends. Good
company. The pride of the ATS.
And what memories they made to cherish. Maddie was happy she’d
gone to fly her daft newspaper kite that divebombed into a tree. And when
the others laughed at her attempts, she laughed with them. They had gone
back home and drunk Bournville cocoa. Small things made large treasures.
And when Paris was finally liberated, on 25 August 1944, Maddie and
Gertie had sat in the cold house in Sunnyfield and used up a half-bucket of
coal on the fire and toasted the people of France with powerful elderberry
wine.
‘Rocket fuel,’ said Maddie. ‘Up to Cook’s normal standard.’
‘Lift yer head right off,’ agreed Gertie. ‘Pity Betts ain’t here to enjoy it.’
‘We’ll save her some,’ said Maddie. ‘Only fair.’
But they hadn’t. Somehow the whole bottle disappeared. At the time it
didn’t seem important, but greedily guzzling the elderberry wine before
Betty Wooten could have her share was something that would sit guiltily on
Maddie’s shoulders for a long time to come
