Silent War Page 7

  My new friend scowled and said, ‘Noisy beggars.’ He wasn’t wrong.

  I sat with him for ten minutes before I moved. His dog came over and sniffed at me. I could see the fleas moving in its coat. Then it went over and lifted its leg against the base of one of the concrete dishes. I asked the old man, ‘What the hell are these things?’

  ‘They call them “The Listening Ears” these days, son. They wuz secret when they built them. They collect sounds from across the Channel and force them altogether like.’

  ‘So you can hear people speaking in France?’

  ‘No. Aeroplanes. So you could hear aeroplanes before you saw them. They were supposed to give an advance warning of an air attack.’

  ‘Did they work?’

  ‘Never in a month of Sundays.’ He said all this with his pipe in his mouth, but removed it to give a great spit. ‘Nothing ever bloody does any more, do it?’

  He pulled down the chute and rolled the silk, the shrouds and the harness into a ball which can’t have been much more than eighteen inches across: I got the feeling that he’d done this before. I recalled that the Yanks had flown Thunderbolts from near here after D-Day, and had dropped them all over the shop . . . so maybe my shepherd had had some practice. The dog snarled at me as it followed him away.

  I took my time walking in. The Oxford was already on the ground. Sergeant Hickman asked me to go back and get the parachute, and I told him I’d lost it. The corporal looked worried, and said he thought I’d have to pay for it. I observed that if I had to explain what had happened to the parachute, we all might have to explain what a girl was doing up in an aircraft chartered to the RAF, with her skirts around her ears. They got my unsubtle point. The corporal looked even more worried. The onshore puff had disappeared again; it was absolutely still.

  Randall told us, ‘I think your parachute got blown to shreds in the gale, Charlie. I guess you were lucky to get down.’

  ‘You’re right, Randall. I probably owe my deliverance to the fine training these two gentlemen have given me today.’

  Ivy butted in and said, ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ Then she asked the sergeant, ‘Can’t I have the parachute, after all?’

  At least he had the grace to blush until Randall rescued him with, ‘No you can’t, honey. It got lost. We’ll catch you another time, OK?’ and we all shook on it.

  The corporal explained, ‘You were supposed to land in the middle of the airfield, but everyone freezes the first time they jump, so we tell them early, count to five, and then shove them out. I touched your shoulder, shouted Go! . . . and you went straight away. That’s never happened before. It’s why you nearly ended up in the drink.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to let any bastard push me out of an aeroplane.’

  Honours even, I supposed. I was an NCO myself once and liked the breed, so I didn’t prolong the agony for them. They gave me an A Pass certificate for falling out of aircraft, and another for firing sub-machine guns in empty hangars, and I shook their hands and watched them go.

  Ivy and I waited to wave Randall off. It was still early afternoon, and the sun had a couple of hours in it. I told Ivy about the Listening Ears, and she didn’t believe me, so I had to walk her over to see them for herself.

  I’ve often thought that big strange-shaped objects have a profoundly odd effect on young women. That’s probably why most of the girls I’ve really fancied chose tall boyfriends instead. Ivy and I tried out the body-sized dip in the shingle where I’d arrived. I lifted her skirt for a slow and detailed reconnaissance, and thought I’d arrived all over again, but eventually she pushed me off and said she was saving herself for her wedding night. You can’t argue with that, can you? I ached, but it didn’t stop us laughing a lot, and walking back in the twilight arm in arm . . . which isn’t too bad a way to end a day.

  Lucy was inspecting the guard when we got back. I wondered what authority a Wren officer actually had over serving airmen, CO or not – but this lot were all national service heroes from grammar schools, so they wouldn’t have known any better anyway. She had three of them in a line, and was giving them one of her evil little bawling-outs. We had to wait the other side of the compound gate until she dismissed one of them to open it. He grinned, and mouthed old cow as I drove past him. Lucy spotted Ivy, and waved me down – but she went to Ivy’s side of the car.

  Ivy beat her to the draw with, ‘Mr Bassett passed me as I was walking in, ma’am. Offered me a lift.’

  ‘That was kind of him.’ Then she bent down, and looked across Ivy at me. ‘How did it go, Bassett? Any problems?’

  ‘No. Not once I got over the shock, ma’am. Parachute training.’

  ‘Always comes in handy.’

  ‘You’ve done it yourself, ma’am?’

  ‘I’m not that damned stupid, Mr Bassett.’ That was me told, wasn’t it? She re-addressed herself to Ivy. ‘You’re off back to your factory in a couple of days, aren’t you?’ Ivy nodded in response. The CO continued, ‘Would you mind doing the early shift this morning – two till six? One of the other operators has reported sick. I’ll come on myself and relieve you for a break.’ They’d be on their own: the rest of us would have our heads down. Ho hum, I thought.

  Ivy looked down at her feet and nodded. Then she said, ‘Yes; fine.’ There was no ma’am – perhaps the civvies didn’t have to – and no emotion in her voice, one way or the other. Ivy risked a glance at me. She knew I could have got her off the hook by volunteering for it myself. But I didn’t, of course. We didn’t speak as I drove the Singer into the black shadow of the blockhouse. She got out without a word.

  I leaned across the passenger seat, and called her back, ‘Ivy love . . .’

  She turned and bent down; stuck her head back in the car. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Leave your knickers off tonight . . . it will save time.’

  She slammed the door so hard she nearly turned the car over. We never spoke again, although it wasn’t the last time I saw her.

  Later I was having a smoke with Rob, in what they called the Off-Duty Ward Room. I casually asked him, ‘Where will they work the early morning shift tonight? The two till six.’

  ‘Number seven on the top floor: that’s at the very end, under the slit window.’

  ‘Any way I can watch the operator?’

  ‘Sure, just turn up – I’ll fix it for you.’

  ‘. . . I meant without the operator knowing I was there?’

  He frowned but didn’t ask the obvious. He said, ‘Sure,’ again. Then, ‘We can get into one of the curtained alcoves before they come on duty, stay there and leave after their shift ends. Who is it, a he or a she?’

  I had noticed the we.

  ‘A bit of both, I suspect.’

  ‘Would it be worth my watching too?’

  ‘Probably. But you’d better be able to keep your mouth shut afterwards.’

  ‘Mum’s the word.’ He was closer than he bloody realized, wasn’t he?

  I know that you’ll think that was pretty sneaky of us, but I excused it as a necessary extension of my education, and it was, too. If I’d been able to take photographs I’d have been able to make a fortune flogging them off to the blokes in my next barrack. As it was Ivy went back to her man with more skills than she’d arrived at Dungeness with, and small-arms drill wasn’t the half of it. After an hour on stag (which means observation or guard duty for those of you who weren’t around in the Fifties) and watching the action, I’d have given her a certificate myself.

  Elaine phoned me a few days later. I was allowed two calls in, and two out each week, although they couldn’t control who I called when I was outside. I made sure the boys got a couple of them. Dieter was dead keen on me working alongside a lighthouse, and made me promise to send him a postcard of it. He was thirteen now, I thought – we weren’t exactly sure – and had talked a lot about ships and sailing recently. It might be just a phase he was going through, or he might be inclined towards a Navy career. I’d
wait and see. Anyway, I told you; Elaine phoned me.

  ‘Mr Halton just left. Someone told him you’ll get a posting soon – and at least a week’s leave before it. Will you be coming back?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘I’ve something to tell you.’ My heart flipped over. Most of the other organs in my body did as well. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this to me: I had been holding a telephone receiver to my ear in Germany when she told me she was pregnant the last time. She’d let me sweat for days before she let drop the fact that the new apple of her eye had been legitimately conceived in her marriage bed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Terry’s taken the Watford job.’ Somewhere at the back of my mind the All-Clear sounded. Men can be bastards; you don’t have to tell me.

  ‘You mean you’ll be seeing a lot more of him. That’s a good thing, surely?’

  ‘I’ll also be seeing a bit less of you – when you come back, I mean. Or when you’re on leave . . .’

  ‘I understand; I won’t make things awkward for you – don’t worry about it.’ I was making it as easy as possible for her to drop me again.

  At first she didn’t say anything, and then she sighed. It was a sigh as deep as the world’s end. Then she said, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t . . . but at least you could have had the manners to sound sorry about it!’ Then she slammed the phone down. Oh, Charlie: another fence to mend! I thought about what she’d said about my posting: I’d got used to Old Man Halton knowing more about my life than I did, but it still teed me off.

  I took a two-bob bit from my pocket and made Dolly heads, and June tails. June had a nice tail, if I thought about it. It came up heads, so I phoned Dolly. Dolly didn’t answer: a man I didn’t recognize picked up her phone, so I hung up before I pressed the button.

  June did answer. Without preamble I asked, ‘Could you get a few days off, and come down to the seaside with me? I have two young sons I didn’t tell you about, and they want to meet you.’

  ‘Who is this?’ She knew, of course, but was just making a bloody point.

  ‘Charlie. Charlie Bassett. We . . .’

  ‘I remember you, Charlie.’ Then she didn’t speak for so long I thought I’d lost the line. I played ‘Minnie the Moocher’ in my head, and got to the second verse. Then she said, ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, Charlie!’

  ‘I know. Part of my charm?’

  Another pause; not so long this time. If it carried on like this, my two bob would run out without anything getting settled.

  ‘Negative, Charlie; I should probably hang up.’

  ‘You still can.’

  ‘You took me for the most enjoyable meal in my life, romanced and bedded me, then didn’t return my phone calls. Even your secretary told me to bugger off, as if I was a naughty schoolgirl. It’s been at least a month.’

  ‘She was probably being protective. I’m sorry.’

  ‘She was protecting her own bloody patch!’

  ‘Maybe that as well. Wait while I put another tanner in, then I’ll have to be quick – it’s all the change I have.’

  After the coin dropped she asked, ‘Where was it you wanted me to go again?’

  ‘A small place on the coast, named Bosham. I have a prefab there alongside a pub owned by one of my best friends . . .’

  ‘. . . and sons, you said?’

  ‘I have two boys. I told them about you, and they asked me to bring you down.’ That was stretching it a bit, I know, but all in a good cause. ‘You’ll have to be careful if you do come; they’re always trying to marry me off.’

  Another long pause; I began to worry about the money again. Her voice sounded different when she asked, ‘When?’ Lighter maybe, or interested . . . or had I imagined it?

  ‘I’m not quite sure, but very soon. With a bit of luck I’ll be up in London in a few days’ time . . . to start my embarkation leave. I’ll phone you as soon as I get in.’

  This time I heard a smile in her voice, I’m sure of it, ‘OK, Mr Bassett, but you’d better not fail this time. Last chance.’

  ‘I won’t need another.’

  We both replaced the receivers at the same time. My hand was shaking. That was interesting.

  Lucy asked to see me an hour later. When I walked into her office she had the brown envelope for me. I hoped I could dispense with the ma’ams at this stage. I also hoped I smiled.

  ‘Arctic or Antarctic?’

  ‘Neither. I thought they’d send you back to RAF Padgate, to teach you how to dress and drill again – you really are a bit of a shambles – but the signal here says you’re off to RAF Abingdon, after a ten-day leave.’ She handed it to me. Then she sat back in her chair and smiled a cat’s smile. I wondered what nasty little time bombs she had written into my PR – my personal record. ‘We never really got to know each other, did we? That’s almost a pity; I thought you might be a bit of a challenge . . .’

  I couldn’t avoid the ma’am this time.

  ‘I think I learned something from you, ma’am.’

  She was looking down at that bloody file on her desk again. I had already been dismissed. Without looking up she asked, ‘What was that, Charlie?’ I liked the Charlie. It made what happened next even better.

  ‘What it would be like to have a really nice black mole, ma’am; halfway between my belly button and, well . . . you know. Now I can imagine what it would look like.’

  She looked up quickly. Her face was suddenly bloodless, and her mouth dropped open. It was a nice little mouth, but I’d seen far more of her than that when I’d watched her getting off with Ivy. Including the mole. I gave a smart salute even although I was still in my ragbag of uniform bits, about-turned and marched out.

  Her secret was safe with me. Until I needed it, that is. Gross insubordination, strike one: nice one, Charlie.

  Chapter Five

  Goodbye, goodbye, I wish you all a last goodbye

  That was Benatzky, wasn’t it – the soldier’s song from White Horse Inn? I don’t know why, but it was the tune that popped into my head as I marched away from Lucy’s office. I whistled it under my breath. Rob must have been earwigging outside, because he fell in beside me, whistling a full octave lower. We gave the room a demonstration of sharp synchronized marching and whistling until we reached the far end: my original drill instructor would have been proud of me. He would have liked it less when we collapsed with laughter, and had to prop each other up. I guessed, with what Rob had learned about Lucy, he’d be on easy street from now on. I was out of there by the afternoon.

  Corporal Baxter was loitering beside my car when I slipped out into the cold. He took off a glove and held out his hand for a shake, which startled me.

  ‘Good luck, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Baxter. Good luck to you too.’ A thought occurred to me – I’d never paid any attention to his flashes, and couldn’t see them under his greatcoat now. I asked, ‘Are you SP’ – service police – ‘or are you in the Regiment?’

  ‘The former, sir, for the next forty-eight hours. Then the latter. I just got my posting – I’ve being trying to get in for two years.’

  ‘Well done. So you’re not here to arrest me for anything?’

  ‘No sir; nothing like that.’ Then he grinned and added, ‘So you’d better go while the going’s good.’

  We shook hands again, rather awkwardly this time. He was only out there to say goodbye to me, though we hadn’t exchanged over a dozen words since I’d arrived. People never fail to surprise me.

  As I watched him dwindle in the car’s rear-view mirror when I drove away from the bloody place, it began to snow.

  At Lympne, an hour and a half later, I called Wing Commander Watson. He didn’t sound all that sober: that was my kind of Watson again. I wanted to know what was at RAF Abingdon.

  ‘Cyprus is, old boy. Good luck.’ I wished people wouldn’t keep saying that to me.

  ‘Cyprus has come to Abingdon?’ Sir; remember the sir, Charlie. You’re back in blu
es.

  ‘It’s your lift to Cyprus. Transport Command. You can cadge a lift from the York Flight Specialist Unit there – they have those big polished shiny things: you like Yorks, don’t you?’

  As it happened I had a love–hate relationship with Avro Yorks. Halton Air had a big red nasty one, and it was always going tech on us. I doubt that we ever made a decent operating profit on her.

  ‘Yes, sir; I’m familiar with the breed.’ It was depressing how quickly the sirs came back to you.

  ‘. . . not that you’re in a hurry any more. Your ten days’ leave just grew to seventeen.’

  ‘Why’s that, sir?’

  ‘It’s Christmas next week, you fool. It’s impolite to invade a country at Christmas time.’

  It must have been my time of life, because it seemed that everyone was putting down the phone on me. I hoped that the word invade had been a proper mistake, not just a slip of the tongue. Maybe we’d let the success of D-Day, eight years ago, go to our heads.

  Elaine was standing at my office door with some papers in her hand. She’d got my job off to a T all right, but was dotting the i’s and crossing the other things with a question here and there.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me it was Christmas?’ I asked her. ‘I suppose I must have known, but I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Your boys won’t have.’ Bugger it! Then she softened. ‘There’s a big new toy shop opened in Hastings: you can stop on the way through. And don’t forget a new satchel for Dieter; he’s worn out that army pack you gave him.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘He phones up every week when you’re not here – checking up on you.’

  I said it earlier, didn’t I? People never fail to surprise me.

  Flaming June was still in Halton’s office – either working out her notice, or having had second thoughts about quitting. I rather hoped it was the latter. After she picked up the phone with a brisk ‘Halton Transport’, I said, ‘I’m glad you’re still there.’

  She didn’t ask who I was this time.

  ‘I came to a new arrangement with Mr Halton. He agreed to let me buy a bigger size of uniform. I look less like a Shepherd’s Bush tart now.’