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“Close that door!” shouted one of the WAAFs behind the counter who had her arms spread as she tried to hold down stacks of paper. “It creates a vacuum every time it opens.”
“Sorry!” Izzie called as she struggled with the door.
When she managed to wrestle it closed, she joined Nancy at the counter, where she had already given the harried post office WAAFs their unit’s names.
“I wonder what will happen to the unit that lost their balloon?” Nancy asked.
“It wasn’t their fault,” Izzie said. “We all got the same meteorology report this morning.”
“I suppose so,” said Nancy, although she didn’t sound con-vinced.
“Here you are,” said the WAAF who’d yelled about the door, handing a bundle of letters across the counter.
“Thank you,” said Izzie.
“Wait! This just came in,” said the WAAF’s counterpart, holding up a slip of paper in a telegraph envelope.
Nancy froze, her eyes fixed on the envelope. “Who is that for?”
“It says—” The WAAF squinted at the small text. “—Aircraft Woman Second Class Nancy Dixon.”
All the color drained from Nancy’s face. “Charles.”
“You don’t think it’s a—” Izzie stared at the telegram in horror. “But surely if something happened they would send a casualty telegram to his mother. That’s a civilian telegram.”
Nancy buckled over, gasping for air as panic clearly began to take over. “I know—he asked his friends—if anything happened—”
The WAAF holding the telegram dropped the message on the counter and backed a step away.
Izzie gripped her friend’s shoulders. “Nancy. Nancy, listen to me. We haven’t read it yet. We don’t know.”
“I know,” Nancy gasped out. “I know.”
“Give me that,” Izzie ordered. The WAAF behind the counter quickly scooped the telegram up and handed it to her, and she ripped it open.
CHARLES KILLED IN ACTION YESTERDAY DEEPEST REGRETS
“What does it say?” Nancy asked, trembling.
Instead of speaking, Izzie gathered Nancy up in her arms and hugged her tight as her friend let out the long, low cry of a dying animal.
12 May 1942
Dearest Jack,
I know this is not the response to your wonderful letter that you will have hoped for, but I’m afraid that I can’t be joyful today.
Nancy Dixon, one of the girls in my unit, lost her boyfriend Charles yesterday. All we know at this point is that he was killed in action, presumably on a mission. He was a flying officer at a nearby base, and Alexandra managed to convince our NCO to allow us to telephone there to speak to Charles’s friend. He couldn’t tell Alexandra much because missions are classified, but he said that Charles’s plane was hit somewhere over open water. He saw Charles eject and pull his parachute, but he was hit by machine-gun spray before it could fully open.
Nancy is inconsolable. She told me just this afternoon that they were in love. They were making plans to meet each other’s families. We believe she will be sent on bereavement leave for a period.
The rest of us do not know what to say. All of us are thinking of the people we love and care for.
I will be honest with you, Jack, I cannot stop thinking of you. I would not be able to stand it if anything happened to you. I know I can’t ask you to run away from danger in this war. We’re all vulnerable. But promise me that you will do everything you can to come back to me.
Yours,
Izzie
