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Authors: Katie Flynn
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know how she came to fall into the ditch except that she’s always been a bit of a dreamer. If she was wandering along, thinking about what she would write in her diary, I suppose she could easily have slipped down the bank.’
‘Well, no point in apportioning blame,’ Auntie said briskly. ‘I just want all of you to give me your word of honour that you’ll never go off by yourselves. There are other dangers in being alone in a strange place, too, which I won’t name . . .’
Debby nodded wisely. ‘Mad axemen who hate little girls,’ she said. ‘There was an old man who lived a few doors away from my grandmother in Liverpool. He bred pigeons, for racing you know, and was always inviting children to visit his pigeon loft, but we were told not to go with him, so we never did.’ She turned to Jill. ‘That’s what Auntie meant, wasn’t it?’
Jill, breaking eggs into the big black frying pan, smiled, but nodded too. ‘That’s right; never forget there is safety in numbers,’ she said cheerfully. Then she turned to address the two young men in their borrowed raiment. ‘Sit yourselves down; I want to dish the eggs up before they go hard.’
By the time Laurie and Dave left the pub they had little need of their torches, for the moon was up and they could see their way clearly. They had eaten well but had refused Auntie’s offer of a beer or even something stronger, thinking it best to stick to hot strong coffee. ‘It’ll keep us awake; not that there’s much fear of either of us falling asleep on the walk home,’ Laurie had told the two women after they had redressed in their dry clothing. ‘Thanks very much, Miss – er – Auntie, I mean. As you can imagine, whilst this weather lasts there won’t be any flying, so we’ll pop in again in a day or two to check how young Imogen is getting on.’
Warm and well fed, they found the path they had made with ease, and when Dave started singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ as they trod in the footsteps they had made when heading for the Canary and Linnet it seemed very appropriate. The moon shone down on the cheerful scene, throwing blue shadows on the silvered snow. Presently, they passed the spot where they had rescued Imogen and pointed out to each other how easy it must have been for the child not to see the ditch, hidden as it was by the depth of the snowfall and the drifts.
‘She was lucky we came by,’ Dave said presently. ‘They’re nice, aren’t they, Laurie? Jill and Auntie, I mean.’
‘Very nice,’ Laurie said. He cast a look at his companion. ‘That girl; there’s something about her face. A sort of calmness . . . I don’t know how else to describe it . . .’
His voice faded away and Dave said brightly: ‘Imogen, do you mean? I didn’t really notice.’
Laurie gave a snort of laughter. ‘Not the kid, you fool,’ he said derisively. ‘I meant Jill, the one who cooked our supper. There was something about her – I’m not sure what – but I’d like to see her again.’
He looked across at Dave, a slow grin curling his mouth. He and Dave had both joined the Royal Air Force back in ’38, passing out as fighter pilots after eighteen months’ intensive training, and by now they knew each other pretty well. Laurie knew that Dave liked his girlfriends to be what he would have described as ‘hot stuff’. He realised of course that Jill could not be so described, for she wore no makeup, her hair was not permed or curled but fell, rain straight, to her shoulders, and her open friendliness did not indicate that she was looking for romance.
Laurie, immediately attracted, had watched her whenever she was unaware of his scrutiny and thought she had a quality of peacefulness, rare in someone so young; he knew her to be not yet seventeen. But Dave, nodding slowly, seemed to understand. ‘I’ve often wondered what sort of girl you’d go for, and now I know,’ he said triumphantly. ‘You like plain Janes, nice little homebodies who fuss
‘Well, no point in apportioning blame,’ Auntie said briskly. ‘I just want all of you to give me your word of honour that you’ll never go off by yourselves. There are other dangers in being alone in a strange place, too, which I won’t name . . .’
Debby nodded wisely. ‘Mad axemen who hate little girls,’ she said. ‘There was an old man who lived a few doors away from my grandmother in Liverpool. He bred pigeons, for racing you know, and was always inviting children to visit his pigeon loft, but we were told not to go with him, so we never did.’ She turned to Jill. ‘That’s what Auntie meant, wasn’t it?’
Jill, breaking eggs into the big black frying pan, smiled, but nodded too. ‘That’s right; never forget there is safety in numbers,’ she said cheerfully. Then she turned to address the two young men in their borrowed raiment. ‘Sit yourselves down; I want to dish the eggs up before they go hard.’
By the time Laurie and Dave left the pub they had little need of their torches, for the moon was up and they could see their way clearly. They had eaten well but had refused Auntie’s offer of a beer or even something stronger, thinking it best to stick to hot strong coffee. ‘It’ll keep us awake; not that there’s much fear of either of us falling asleep on the walk home,’ Laurie had told the two women after they had redressed in their dry clothing. ‘Thanks very much, Miss – er – Auntie, I mean. As you can imagine, whilst this weather lasts there won’t be any flying, so we’ll pop in again in a day or two to check how young Imogen is getting on.’
Warm and well fed, they found the path they had made with ease, and when Dave started singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ as they trod in the footsteps they had made when heading for the Canary and Linnet it seemed very appropriate. The moon shone down on the cheerful scene, throwing blue shadows on the silvered snow. Presently, they passed the spot where they had rescued Imogen and pointed out to each other how easy it must have been for the child not to see the ditch, hidden as it was by the depth of the snowfall and the drifts.
‘She was lucky we came by,’ Dave said presently. ‘They’re nice, aren’t they, Laurie? Jill and Auntie, I mean.’
‘Very nice,’ Laurie said. He cast a look at his companion. ‘That girl; there’s something about her face. A sort of calmness . . . I don’t know how else to describe it . . .’
His voice faded away and Dave said brightly: ‘Imogen, do you mean? I didn’t really notice.’
Laurie gave a snort of laughter. ‘Not the kid, you fool,’ he said derisively. ‘I meant Jill, the one who cooked our supper. There was something about her – I’m not sure what – but I’d like to see her again.’
He looked across at Dave, a slow grin curling his mouth. He and Dave had both joined the Royal Air Force back in ’38, passing out as fighter pilots after eighteen months’ intensive training, and by now they knew each other pretty well. Laurie knew that Dave liked his girlfriends to be what he would have described as ‘hot stuff’. He realised of course that Jill could not be so described, for she wore no makeup, her hair was not permed or curled but fell, rain straight, to her shoulders, and her open friendliness did not indicate that she was looking for romance.
Laurie, immediately attracted, had watched her whenever she was unaware of his scrutiny and thought she had a quality of peacefulness, rare in someone so young; he knew her to be not yet seventeen. But Dave, nodding slowly, seemed to understand. ‘I’ve often wondered what sort of girl you’d go for, and now I know,’ he said triumphantly. ‘You like plain Janes, nice little homebodies who fuss
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