Read Online Wish Me Luck by Margaret Dickinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Margaret Dickinson
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of being built. She peeped into the signals’ room with its wirelesses, typewriters and teleprinters. For a moment she stood listening to the morse code blips that filled the room, mentally translating a few words in her head. Directly opposite the signals’ room was the rest room, but Fleur ignored this for the moment and, taking a deep breath, moved to the end of the narrow passageway and opened the door into the watch office.
This was the largest room in the building. Directly in front of her was the long desk where the R/T operators sat. In one corner the duty officer sat at his desk, overseeing all that was happening. Flight Sergeant Bob Watson was in his mid forties, Fleur guessed. He was tall and thin and had dark, Bryl-creemed hair and the usual moustache that was fast becoming the trademark of the RAF. Fleur was to notice that he stroked it continuously when the tension mounted in the watch office and that he would pace up and down behind the operators as the aircraft took off one by one and again when they landed.
As she entered the room, Bob Watson greeted her informally with a friendly smile. ‘You must have made an impression already. Fullerton has already asked if you can work with her.’
Fleur smiled and felt a faint blush creep into her cheeks. ‘I’d like that, Flight, if it can be arranged. I think we’d work well together.’
He eyed her keenly. ‘You think so? Some of the younger girls find her – well – a bit abrasive. She doesn’t suffer fools at all – let alone gladly, as they say. Mind you,’ he said arching his eyebrows, ‘neither do I, but I suppose they expect it from me.’
Fleur remained silent. He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. ‘Well then, I’ll adjust the rotas so you work with Fullerton. And in that case, you’ll be on from tonight, but only if they’re flying. Come on duty a bit early and we’ll show you the ropes – how we do things in this watch office.’
‘Thank you, Flight.’
So, she thought, as she went down the steps, I’ve the rest of the day off. I wonder what Robbie’s doing.
Ruth brought her the news in the NAAFI at midday. ‘I don’t think you’ll see much of him for the next few days. The new crews are getting to know one another. They might even get a few practice flights in to make sure they gel before they’re sent on a mission. Mind you, they could be flying tonight if Tommy thinks they’re ready. He’s done quite a bit of flying on Hampdens already evidently and …’ But Fleur was no longer listening. She was far too wrapped up in her own disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to see Robbie and – worse still – there would be no chance for him to get home on leave for quite a while. No chance for him to ask his mother some very delicate – yet to them very important – questions.
With time on her hands, Fleur went back to the cottage and changed into civvies – a pair of old trousers and a thick sweater.
‘Are you hungry, dear?’ Mrs Jackson asked as Fleur came downstairs.
‘No, thanks. I ate in the NAAFI, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, if you can spare one.’
‘Of course. I get extra rations with you two here.’
‘I’ll make it. You sit down.’
The old lady sank thankfully into her chair and took up her knitting. ‘Socks for the troops.’ She smiled. ‘A nice WVS lady brings me the wool and collects them. It gives me something to do and I feel I’m helping.’
‘You’re helping a lot already, putting up with us two.’
Mrs Jackson’s face creased into smiles and her spectacles wobbled. ‘Oh, that’s no hardship, dear. I enjoy the company.’
Fleur set a cup of tea on the small table beside the old lady. She was about to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth when she paused and asked quietly, ‘Is it all right for me to sit here?’
There was the slightest hesitation before Mrs Jackson said, ‘Of course, dear. My Arthur would have been tickled pink to think that a lovely
This was the largest room in the building. Directly in front of her was the long desk where the R/T operators sat. In one corner the duty officer sat at his desk, overseeing all that was happening. Flight Sergeant Bob Watson was in his mid forties, Fleur guessed. He was tall and thin and had dark, Bryl-creemed hair and the usual moustache that was fast becoming the trademark of the RAF. Fleur was to notice that he stroked it continuously when the tension mounted in the watch office and that he would pace up and down behind the operators as the aircraft took off one by one and again when they landed.
As she entered the room, Bob Watson greeted her informally with a friendly smile. ‘You must have made an impression already. Fullerton has already asked if you can work with her.’
Fleur smiled and felt a faint blush creep into her cheeks. ‘I’d like that, Flight, if it can be arranged. I think we’d work well together.’
He eyed her keenly. ‘You think so? Some of the younger girls find her – well – a bit abrasive. She doesn’t suffer fools at all – let alone gladly, as they say. Mind you,’ he said arching his eyebrows, ‘neither do I, but I suppose they expect it from me.’
Fleur remained silent. He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. ‘Well then, I’ll adjust the rotas so you work with Fullerton. And in that case, you’ll be on from tonight, but only if they’re flying. Come on duty a bit early and we’ll show you the ropes – how we do things in this watch office.’
‘Thank you, Flight.’
So, she thought, as she went down the steps, I’ve the rest of the day off. I wonder what Robbie’s doing.
Ruth brought her the news in the NAAFI at midday. ‘I don’t think you’ll see much of him for the next few days. The new crews are getting to know one another. They might even get a few practice flights in to make sure they gel before they’re sent on a mission. Mind you, they could be flying tonight if Tommy thinks they’re ready. He’s done quite a bit of flying on Hampdens already evidently and …’ But Fleur was no longer listening. She was far too wrapped up in her own disappointment that she wouldn’t be able to see Robbie and – worse still – there would be no chance for him to get home on leave for quite a while. No chance for him to ask his mother some very delicate – yet to them very important – questions.
With time on her hands, Fleur went back to the cottage and changed into civvies – a pair of old trousers and a thick sweater.
‘Are you hungry, dear?’ Mrs Jackson asked as Fleur came downstairs.
‘No, thanks. I ate in the NAAFI, but I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, if you can spare one.’
‘Of course. I get extra rations with you two here.’
‘I’ll make it. You sit down.’
The old lady sank thankfully into her chair and took up her knitting. ‘Socks for the troops.’ She smiled. ‘A nice WVS lady brings me the wool and collects them. It gives me something to do and I feel I’m helping.’
‘You’re helping a lot already, putting up with us two.’
Mrs Jackson’s face creased into smiles and her spectacles wobbled. ‘Oh, that’s no hardship, dear. I enjoy the company.’
Fleur set a cup of tea on the small table beside the old lady. She was about to sit in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth when she paused and asked quietly, ‘Is it all right for me to sit here?’
There was the slightest hesitation before Mrs Jackson said, ‘Of course, dear. My Arthur would have been tickled pink to think that a lovely
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