Dearest Geraldine
I do hope this letter finds you well and you have settled in nicely to your role with the ATA.
Michael has written you a separate letter he tells me. He took himself off to the post office with it so I hope it has reached you.
I have some rather sad news to tell you, my dear. I heard today that your friend and flying instructor, Johnny Fisher has been killed flying over France. He was on a night-time mission, the details of which I don’t know. His aircraft was shot down and there were no survivors. His name will be read out at church on Sunday and I know you will want me to pass on your condolences to his family.
Fitz’s breath caught in her throat and she stopped reading as tears filled her eyes. Johnny Fisher was dead.
‘Oh, no,’ she gasped.
‘Fitz, what’s wrong?’ Marjorie put down her letter.
Fitz couldn’t speak at first. She looked up at her friend and shook her head.
Marjorie shot across the room and put her arm around Fitz. ‘Bad news?’
Fitz nodded. It was the second time in only a few weeks that someone close to her had been killed during the war and as before, it hit home very differently than hearing and reading about strangers dying.
‘Johnny Fisher. He taught me to fly. He’s been killed in action,’ Fitz finally managed to say.
‘Oh, Fitz. I’m so sorry,’ said Marjorie, hugging her friend tightly.
Fitz was grateful to have someone there. She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at her eyes so she could read the paragraph again.
‘He was shot down over France on a night mission,’ said Fitz, dabbing at her nose. ‘That’s some consolation, I suppose. He was doing what he loved. When my time comes, I hope I’m in the sky, too.’
‘Don’t talk like that now,’ said Marjorie. ‘I know what you mean, but even so, we mustn’t think about that. It’s tempting fate, even though I don’t believe the bloody thing myself but you know …’ She made Fitz a cup of tea, adding extra sugar. ‘You can have my ration for the day,’ she said. ‘You need it for the shock.’
Then Marjorie had sat back down in her chair with her letter. Fitz appreciated the gesture. Marjorie was pragmatic, as ever, and they both knew that dwelling on death was not a good thing. So Fitz instead thought of all the good times she’d had withJohnny and how much she had enjoyed learning to fly with him. He had been one of the few men not to dismiss her desire to be a pilot. He had never once said it wasn’t a place for women. He had always encouraged her to pursue her dream and she would be forever grateful for his patience and expert teaching. If it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t be where she was now.
Fitz drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, vowing to make Johnny proud of her and her flying. She’d never forget him.
It was a while before she picked up her father’s letter again to finish reading it.
So, my dear, moving onto better news, Camilla has volunteered to take in two children from London and they arrive tomorrow. Michael is looking forward to having two new playmates. We are also taking in two pregnant women whose babies are due in the next six weeks. Camilla has turned the two rooms at the top of the house into nurseries. I think she’s rather enjoying it all and I’m pleased she feels she has a purpose.
The village feels quite strange these days with no young men about, only those who have been declared unfit for duty but there are lots of young women here taking up the slack. You know, Geraldine, you can always come back and work on the farm as a land girl any time you like. Although I don’tsuppose you will, I just wanted to remind you that you can.
I do hope you can call to see us soon on one of your days off, preferably by conventional travel and not a Tiger Moth.
Fondest love
Pa
Had Fitz not received Michael’s letter, she might have skimmed over the part in her father’s correspondence where he spoke of Camilla. She would have probably rolled her eyes and sighed at her father proudly talking about what his wife was doing. Today, however, Fitz did none of those things. With the knowledge she now possessed, inadvertently relayed by her brother, she had a very different impression of Camilla.
Not only was Camilla taking in two children, she was also taking in two pregnant women. Fitz couldn’t help wondering if it was to do with Camilla’s own loss. Some women would shy away from having contact with children and babies, but here Camilla was, opening the doors of Badcombe House to them.
It was bittersweet, though, if that was the right term. How could Camilla do that for absolute strangers but had never been able to do that for Fitz? It stung a little and that feeling of rejection stayed with her for the rest of the day, nestled amongst the grief for her flying instructor.
The pub was busy that evening, and Fitz was glad of the distraction. There were two ATA pilots there who she hadn’t met before. Two men, one of them older and probably too old for conscription, but the other could only be in his mid-twenties.
‘Oh, look, two new boys,’ said Fitz, as she, Elsie and Marjorie reached the bar. ‘Always good to see some new faces.’
‘Hello,’ said the younger man. He held out his hand. ‘Harry Broome.’
They exchanged greetings and introductions. The older chap was Reg Collins and both men had delivered aircraft to Southampton that day and were making their way back to Whitchurch airfield near Bristol the following morning.
