A Sister’s Courage. Molly Green

land. She gasped. What a magnificent sight!

      The six beaming pilots stepped out of the shining new aeroplanes. One in particular caught her eye. Tall with fair hair, and although some way away, his smile as he glanced in her direction looked as though it was on full beam.

      A strand of her hair whipped across her face in the wind as she gulped and sent him a shy smile in return. Several pilots whom she now recognised gathered around the six men, excitedly firing questions, and one of them climbed on the wing to have a look in the cockpit. Raine wished with all her heart she could do the same. What would they say if she ran over the grass and asked if she, too, could have a look? Actually, thinking about it, they couldn’t kill her for it.

      In the next instant she was running towards Hartman who had his back to her, talking to the clerk who’d announced the Hurricanes’ arrival.

      She would tap him on the arm and ask his permission to have a closer look at the planes. But the pilot with the beaming smile broke away and strolled towards her, looking every inch a film star with his sun-streaked hair ruffling and his broad shoulders encased in a smart RAF tunic. She couldn’t look away.

      The moment was broken by one of the Hurricane pilots calling him.

      ‘Marshall, over here. The chaps want to know if you’re going to the mess and—’ The rest of his words were caught by the wind.

      So his name was Marshall. She supposed it was his surname. They all seemed to use each other’s surnames or nicknames. Her heart picked up its beat again as he mouthed ‘Sorry’ and turned to the others. She stared after his retreating back, aching to belong – the way they did. All pals together. She sighed. It was just a dream.

      With hunched shoulders she trudged back to the building, to her desk, to tackle the never-ending pile of dull paperwork.

      Another week passed with Mrs Chilvers dumping as much as she could on Raine’s desk. If she was honest, Raine was a little scared of the woman.

      ‘I need this chart completed by noon,’ Mrs Chilvers said, ‘so please give it precedence.’

       Now, Raine.

      ‘Mrs Chilvers, may I speak to you about something?’ Raine got to her feet. She was pleased to note she was several inches taller than the woman.

      ‘What is it, Miss Linfoot? I’m very busy.’

      ‘It’s about leaving early one day a week.’

      ‘What’s that?’ Mrs Chilvers barked. ‘What are you talking about? You’re here full time.’

      Raine took a breath. ‘Yes, that’s right, but Flight Lieutenant Hartman said I could leave at half past two one day a week – a day to suit you, of course,’ she added hastily.

      ‘Yes, he mentioned something about it, but I told him it’s not possible.’

      ‘You see, he promised. It was part of my wages.’

      Mrs Chilvers thrust her matronly chest out. ‘And what is the reason, may I ask?’

      ‘I want to take flying lessons.’

      There was a deathly pause. Raine’s heart beat fast.

      ‘Do you realise we will probably be at war any day?’ Mrs Chilvers began, her voice trembling with annoyance. ‘We shall need all hands on deck to keep this section going smoothly, and all the other administration sections, for that matter, so the men who work here at the moment can be released for duty.’ She stared up at Raine with expressionless eyes. ‘It would be a complete waste of time. And anyway, we’re far too busy to start letting you off early. You’re still learning the job. What would be more use to us is if you could type.’ Mrs Chilvers’s mouth tightened. ‘But you can’t, so be grateful we’ve given you a job when you’re not even trained for anything.’ She smiled without it reaching her eyes. ‘Now run along. I need that chart by noon.’

      Raine stood. ‘I am grateful, Mrs Chilvers, and you’ll have the chart by noon.’

      Cursing under her breath as Mrs Chilvers disappeared, Raine looked at the chart for the staff’s work schedule for the month. It certainly wouldn’t take her two hours to finish. She sat quietly and began to fill in the columns. As she worked, her lips curved into a smile. She knew what she was going to do. It might be the answer to getting a transfer. Something closer to aeroplanes than the pay section. But she would be careful not to let Mrs Chilvers know what she was planning.

      Progress was slow. She daren’t ask anyone to show her how to actually get the piece of paper in and roll it to its position as her secret would be out. But her mechanical mind soon picked up the basics. To her delight she’d found an instruction book with a clear diagram of a keyboard showing where to place her fingers. It sternly told her not to look down at the letters and even to stick little pieces of paper over the keys if she was tempted. Raine merely kept her eyes fixed on the sheet of paper in front of her. In a week she could type without looking at the keys. It was time to appeal to Flight Lieutenant Hartman. And she would make it official by typing the letter and putting URGENT on the envelope to make sure it got to him personally.

      Her chance came when Mrs Chilvers telephoned in sick the following day. She began her letter, the tip of her tongue sticking out between her teeth as she concentrated.

       Dear Flight Lieutenant Hartman,

       I know you are very busy, but I hope you will understand if I remind you again that you promised during my interview you would allow me to leave early one day a week so I would have time to cycle to Hart’s for a flying lesson. I have kept up with all the work Mrs Chilvers has given me, but I have been here for nearly a month and am very keen indeed to start.

       I am very serious in my intentions to become a qualified pilot.

       Thank you in advance.

       Yours truly,

       Lorraine Linfoot

      Raine read the letter twice, then stuck it in an envelope. She put Hartman’s name on the outside and wrote PERSONAL and URGENT.

      She’d walk over to his building this very minute and leave it on his desk.

      The following day Hartman found her as she was in the office kitchen boiling a kettle.

      ‘Thank you for your letter, Lorraine,’ he said.

      She couldn’t tell by his expression if he was annoyed or not. Then to her delight she saw the beginnings of a smile tilt his lips.

      ‘I hope it was in order to write,’ was the first thing that came to her.

      ‘I’m glad you reminded me. I’m sorry we haven’t kept to the arrangement. Lot going on at the moment.’

      ‘I understand, sir, but I’m up to date with my work and Mrs Chilvers isn’t in today, so I was wondering if I could leave early because I still haven’t been to the flying club yet.’

      Hartman looked at her. ‘You’re really keen, aren’t you?’

      ‘Yes, I am.’

      ‘Then by all means pack up now and go and see them.’

      Raine beamed. ‘Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you very much. You never know. If there’s a war my skills might come in handy.’

      ‘As I told you before, not with the RAF,’ he said. ‘But it’s still an excellent qualification to have, all the same.’

      He swung away, leaving Raine in a pool of happiness.

      It took Raine just short of half an hour to reach Hart’s Flying Club. She set her bike in a rack near the entrance, enjoying being close enough to watch a few planes take off and land for a few moments before she turned into the entrance.

      She swiftly told the very nice elderly man at the desk that she would like to sign up for flying lessons