Edward Mallory had been chased back across the Channel by two yellow nosed Messerschmitts losing his wingman, his squadron and his bearings in the process. He brought his Spitfire out of cloud above the coast with no clear landmark in sight before Lacksford. Had he really drifted this far north? The motor began coughing and a quick check of the fuel gauges showed why. Scanning the fields for a safe place to put down he found an airfield where there should have been none; it was far too close to the town to be Monksclere. Still there was nothing for it Edward tipped the wing and began his descent.
Mal watched the pilot emerge from the cockpit and counted his blessings. He strode over to welcome the newcomer. Edward was removing his flying helmet when he saw a figure striding up with his hand extended.
‘Welcome to Helton’ Mal boomed ‘looks like you’ve been in a spot of bother there’.
‘Oh nothing too serious Sir’ Edward said running his hand through his hair and trying to shake the engine noise out of his ears ‘what station is this?’.
‘Helton old chap’ Mal said with a show of affability ‘only been here a few weeks… how’s that crate of yours? Got a few bullet strikes I see’
‘Just needs a bit of juice really Sir. Is there a telephone on the field?’ there was something strange about Helton he simply could not put his finger on it.
‘Afraid not still waiting for a few things to arrive… you’ll have to come up to the Hall’ Mal said directing the young man with an a hand in the small of his back ‘You’re just in time for lunch as it happens… wait a sec while I get some of our girls to give your machine the once over’. Girls of course! Edward looked around and there was not another man in sight. With a silent ‘what ho!’ Edward followed Mal off the field.
‘What the devil are you playing at Mal’ Herbie hissed at Mal ‘what happened to secrecy?’
‘Just this once Herbie I promise’ he said softly. Mal was looking very pleased with himself which irritated the squadron-leader even more ‘within a week every base in England will be talking about Herbie Trent’s harem of WAAF pilots, by Sunday they’ll all be beauty contest winners!’
‘And what good will that be?’ Herbie was desperately fighting the urge to punch Mal on the nose.
‘A couple of our lads are captured every week flying over France. ‘ Mal explained ‘they’ll all stick to name, rank and serial number but the rumours will be in the POW camps in no time at all…’ he let his voice trail off and waited for the CO to catch up.
‘You’re a devious cove Mal remind me never…’ he never finished the sentence. Jess had rushed through the entrance pursued by girlish merriment.
‘Pilot-officer Crabtree stop right there’ Pat barked catching hold of Jess’s coat and pulling it around to display Sally’s black handprint. ‘We’ll talk about this later mark my words’ she said before stalking off.
Amanda who had been walking a step or two behind slipped her arm in Jess’s. ‘Don’t mind Auntie Hope’ she said with a conspiratorial wink ‘she has extra bones in her corset. I had a Bentley that used to throw oil everywhere; I’ll show how to get the stain out tonight’
