Read Online Down an English Lane by Margaret Thornton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Margaret Thornton
Ads: Link
far is it?’
‘Oh, just a couple of miles…and two miles back again, of course.’
‘Is that all?’ She gave a sardonic little laugh. She was not a great walker, or had not been until she joined the WAAF, since when the drilling and marching and square bashing had played havoc at first with her legs and feet. Back home in her native Bradford all the walking she had done had been around the shopping streets.
‘You’ll manage it easily, darling, and I shall be there to help you along. So long as you have some comfortable shoes to wear.’
‘Of course I have; my WAAF regulation ones. They’re well broken in by now.’
‘So they are… I’m sorry about asking you to wear your uniform tonight, Chrissie, but I thought it would look better if we “flew the flag” together, so to speak.’ She had been relieved to shed the serviceable black shoes, though, when they returned home, and to replace them with her frivolous red velvet slippers; they had been purchased long ago at Brown Muff’s store in Bradford when such fripperies were still obtainable. And to take off her heavy blue jacket, too. It was a vastly inferior one to the uniform which Bruce wore as a Flying Officer.
‘You will be able to dress up in your “civvies” tomorrow when we go to church,’ Bruce continued. ‘I shall feel so proud of you, darling. I’m longing to show you off to everyone.’
She smiled at him. ‘And I’m proud of you too, Brucie. I’m only sorry that I have no family to show you off to.’ She had told him, soon after they had met, how her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was a small girl, and that she had been brought up by her maternal grandmother. When her grandmother died, a couple of years ago, she had been left more or less alone in the world, apart from a few friends, and it was then that she had joined the WAAF.
Meeting Bruce six months ago had provided the fillip to her life for which she had been waiting. She was looking forward confidently to the future, but she knew that she must play her cards right.
Rebecca Tremaine knew she would not sleep until Bruce and his young lady had come upstairs. She knew it was foolish of her to fuss over him. He had been away from home for many years, apart from the long holidays, ever since he went away to boarding school at the age of thirteen. Surely, by now, she should have ceased to worry about him, especially now that the wretched war was over.
She had not been overly concerned about him whilst he was at school, knowing that he was in safe hands in the place that had been vetted by herself and Archie. Since he had joined the RAF, however – something he had been determined to do as soon as he was eighteen – she had had little peace of mind. She had been proud of him when he had been awarded his wings, but her pride had been overshadowed by her anxiety for his safety. She was relieved that she did not know when the bombing raids over Germany had been taking place; and Bruce had phoned home frequently – he had always been such a considerate and dutiful son – to let his parents know that he was safe and well. One blessing was that he had not been old enough to join the RAF at the time of the Battle of Britain. Bythe time he had enlisted, and had been accepted for officer training, there had been early signs that the war might be in its latter stages, and that Britain – please God – might be the victor.
Rebecca strained her ears as she heard footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of voices saying goodnight and doors closing. Archie, who she had believed to be asleep, was stirring at the side of her and when he turned over she could see that he, too, was awake.
‘They’ve just come to bed, Archie,’ she whispered, ‘our Bruce and Christine.’
‘Give over worrying about him, Becky,’ grunted Archie, his voice muffled by the covers. ‘He’s old enough to look after himself. And she seems a nice sort of lass.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Of
‘Oh, just a couple of miles…and two miles back again, of course.’
‘Is that all?’ She gave a sardonic little laugh. She was not a great walker, or had not been until she joined the WAAF, since when the drilling and marching and square bashing had played havoc at first with her legs and feet. Back home in her native Bradford all the walking she had done had been around the shopping streets.
‘You’ll manage it easily, darling, and I shall be there to help you along. So long as you have some comfortable shoes to wear.’
‘Of course I have; my WAAF regulation ones. They’re well broken in by now.’
‘So they are… I’m sorry about asking you to wear your uniform tonight, Chrissie, but I thought it would look better if we “flew the flag” together, so to speak.’ She had been relieved to shed the serviceable black shoes, though, when they returned home, and to replace them with her frivolous red velvet slippers; they had been purchased long ago at Brown Muff’s store in Bradford when such fripperies were still obtainable. And to take off her heavy blue jacket, too. It was a vastly inferior one to the uniform which Bruce wore as a Flying Officer.
‘You will be able to dress up in your “civvies” tomorrow when we go to church,’ Bruce continued. ‘I shall feel so proud of you, darling. I’m longing to show you off to everyone.’
She smiled at him. ‘And I’m proud of you too, Brucie. I’m only sorry that I have no family to show you off to.’ She had told him, soon after they had met, how her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was a small girl, and that she had been brought up by her maternal grandmother. When her grandmother died, a couple of years ago, she had been left more or less alone in the world, apart from a few friends, and it was then that she had joined the WAAF.
Meeting Bruce six months ago had provided the fillip to her life for which she had been waiting. She was looking forward confidently to the future, but she knew that she must play her cards right.
Rebecca Tremaine knew she would not sleep until Bruce and his young lady had come upstairs. She knew it was foolish of her to fuss over him. He had been away from home for many years, apart from the long holidays, ever since he went away to boarding school at the age of thirteen. Surely, by now, she should have ceased to worry about him, especially now that the wretched war was over.
She had not been overly concerned about him whilst he was at school, knowing that he was in safe hands in the place that had been vetted by herself and Archie. Since he had joined the RAF, however – something he had been determined to do as soon as he was eighteen – she had had little peace of mind. She had been proud of him when he had been awarded his wings, but her pride had been overshadowed by her anxiety for his safety. She was relieved that she did not know when the bombing raids over Germany had been taking place; and Bruce had phoned home frequently – he had always been such a considerate and dutiful son – to let his parents know that he was safe and well. One blessing was that he had not been old enough to join the RAF at the time of the Battle of Britain. Bythe time he had enlisted, and had been accepted for officer training, there had been early signs that the war might be in its latter stages, and that Britain – please God – might be the victor.
Rebecca strained her ears as she heard footsteps on the stairs, then the sound of voices saying goodnight and doors closing. Archie, who she had believed to be asleep, was stirring at the side of her and when he turned over she could see that he, too, was awake.
‘They’ve just come to bed, Archie,’ she whispered, ‘our Bruce and Christine.’
‘Give over worrying about him, Becky,’ grunted Archie, his voice muffled by the covers. ‘He’s old enough to look after himself. And she seems a nice sort of lass.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Of
Similar Books
