“You’ll never get a husband now, Sis,” he joked. He told me that he knew what we VADs are nicknamed and when the parents weren’t listening he whispered it in my ear. (Unrepeatable!)
Giles has been on leave, too, and yesterday evening he came over and we went to the flicks together. I’d felt very pleased when he rang to ask me out – I hadn’t expected him to – he hadn’t answered my last letter. He looked awfully handsome in his powder-blue pilot’s uniform and flying cap. I was glad I’d dolled up – I spent ages in the bathroom, as it was a special occasion! And I was wearing the lipstick Peter gave me for Christmas. Bright red too!
In the cinema, as soon as the lights had dimmed, Giles took my hand. I thought I’d feel pleased, but I didn’t – somehow it felt all wrong. When the lights came on again he snatched away his hand, as if he felt awkward too.
But later he tried a kiss, in the car as he dropped me off. That felt wrong, too. We sat in the car for a minute in silence.
“I nearly didn’t call you,” he said at last, giving me a sidelong look. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me.” He hesitated. “When you didn’t answer my letter for so long I wondered – I wondered if you’d met anyone else. I didn’t write again because I didn’t know what to say.” He turned quickly away and looked out of the window, as if he thought he’d see my answer in my face and was secretly dreading it.
“I haven’t—” I began. I was about to explain how I felt, when I saw him smile; he looked hugely relieved. I just couldn’t tell him the truth then – that I didn’t feel for him the way he felt for me. He promised that he’d write and he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. He was rather subdued, and I felt a bit tearful, and I’m sure he thought it was because of him, but it wasn’t, or rather it was, but not in the way he thought. Giles is nice, and he’s very good-looking, but all evening I’d felt as if he was a stranger.
At breakfast this morning I was very subdued. Mother kept glancing at me across the table, but she didn’t say anything. Afterwards, when I went upstairs to pack, she came into my bedroom – to help me, she said – but I knew she wanted to find out how my evening with Giles had gone.
“Well?” she said at last, when I still didn’t say anything. She looked worried. Now is not a good time to fall in love – especially with a pilot.
Suddenly I felt a big gush of misery. I flopped down on the bed.
“Oh, Mother, I don’t know,” I wailed. I told her that I wasn’t sure I’d see him again. That I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. And . . . and. . . All at once I felt my lips tremble.
“Oh, my poor Kitten,” Mother said, hugging me, as if she knew all too well what I was feeling. “It’s not easy, is it? Being young.” I shook my head, trying to smile, but I felt all choked up inside.
Tuesday 2 January
There was a letter from Anne waiting for me when I got back. It’s been ages since I heard from her. I tore it open eagerly. There was a lot about the awful weather up in Leeds, and that she was trying to get transferred south. That wasn’t all.
“Giles sounds such a stick,” she said. (I’d told her about my unsatisfactory letters from him.) “Poor Kitten! Don’t worry about it. You can do a lot better.”
At that I just laid my head down on my arms and cried.
Wednesday 3 January
It’s all round the hospital how plucky the Finns have been. The story goes that they’ve made a new sort of weapon to hurl at the Russian army’s tanks. It’s a grenade, nicknamed a “Molotov cocktail” after Molotov, one of the Russian ministers. Anyway, the Russians were very surprised to find that the Finns didn’t surrender straightaway, as next to Soviet Russia, Finland’s just a small country. Three cheers for the Finns I say! I hope we show as much courage when it’s our turn to face the enemy.
Here in the hospital our worst
Giles has been on leave, too, and yesterday evening he came over and we went to the flicks together. I’d felt very pleased when he rang to ask me out – I hadn’t expected him to – he hadn’t answered my last letter. He looked awfully handsome in his powder-blue pilot’s uniform and flying cap. I was glad I’d dolled up – I spent ages in the bathroom, as it was a special occasion! And I was wearing the lipstick Peter gave me for Christmas. Bright red too!
In the cinema, as soon as the lights had dimmed, Giles took my hand. I thought I’d feel pleased, but I didn’t – somehow it felt all wrong. When the lights came on again he snatched away his hand, as if he felt awkward too.
But later he tried a kiss, in the car as he dropped me off. That felt wrong, too. We sat in the car for a minute in silence.
“I nearly didn’t call you,” he said at last, giving me a sidelong look. “I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me.” He hesitated. “When you didn’t answer my letter for so long I wondered – I wondered if you’d met anyone else. I didn’t write again because I didn’t know what to say.” He turned quickly away and looked out of the window, as if he thought he’d see my answer in my face and was secretly dreading it.
“I haven’t—” I began. I was about to explain how I felt, when I saw him smile; he looked hugely relieved. I just couldn’t tell him the truth then – that I didn’t feel for him the way he felt for me. He promised that he’d write and he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. He was rather subdued, and I felt a bit tearful, and I’m sure he thought it was because of him, but it wasn’t, or rather it was, but not in the way he thought. Giles is nice, and he’s very good-looking, but all evening I’d felt as if he was a stranger.
At breakfast this morning I was very subdued. Mother kept glancing at me across the table, but she didn’t say anything. Afterwards, when I went upstairs to pack, she came into my bedroom – to help me, she said – but I knew she wanted to find out how my evening with Giles had gone.
“Well?” she said at last, when I still didn’t say anything. She looked worried. Now is not a good time to fall in love – especially with a pilot.
Suddenly I felt a big gush of misery. I flopped down on the bed.
“Oh, Mother, I don’t know,” I wailed. I told her that I wasn’t sure I’d see him again. That I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. And . . . and. . . All at once I felt my lips tremble.
“Oh, my poor Kitten,” Mother said, hugging me, as if she knew all too well what I was feeling. “It’s not easy, is it? Being young.” I shook my head, trying to smile, but I felt all choked up inside.
Tuesday 2 January
There was a letter from Anne waiting for me when I got back. It’s been ages since I heard from her. I tore it open eagerly. There was a lot about the awful weather up in Leeds, and that she was trying to get transferred south. That wasn’t all.
“Giles sounds such a stick,” she said. (I’d told her about my unsatisfactory letters from him.) “Poor Kitten! Don’t worry about it. You can do a lot better.”
At that I just laid my head down on my arms and cried.
Wednesday 3 January
It’s all round the hospital how plucky the Finns have been. The story goes that they’ve made a new sort of weapon to hurl at the Russian army’s tanks. It’s a grenade, nicknamed a “Molotov cocktail” after Molotov, one of the Russian ministers. Anyway, the Russians were very surprised to find that the Finns didn’t surrender straightaway, as next to Soviet Russia, Finland’s just a small country. Three cheers for the Finns I say! I hope we show as much courage when it’s our turn to face the enemy.
Here in the hospital our worst
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