Where the Heart Is (32 page)

Not that any of the uniforms worn by those there to receive their medals could compare to the magnificence of the dress uniforms worn by those members of the Household Cavalry, who had been on duty when they had arrived, or the guards outside the palace, in their red jackets and their bearskin helmets.

Young Guards officers, in scarlet jackets heavily laden with gold braid, dress swords at their side, looking vastly different from the men Lou was used to seeing in their army khaki, or their RAF or navy blues, stood out from everyone else.

The closed double doors opened to admit what Lou heard someone close to her saying was an ‘equerry'. Excitement and anxiety fizzed inside her tummy. Seb had told her that the equerries were sort of like sergeants looking after the King. A buzz of expectation followed by the silence of tension gripped the room.

Busy officials started to organise the formal presentation line. Lou’s throat went dry.

‘It shouldn’t be long now,’ Seb told Sam quietly. Sam was very much the head of his family and Seb certainly didn’t want to seem to be usurping his authority, but as he and Grace had agreed last night in the privacy of their bedroom, her parents weren’t accustomed to either London or the formality of this kind of occasion, so it made sense
for Seb tactfully to do what he could to make the day go smoothly for them all.

He had certainly succeeded in getting them a front-line view of the proceedings, but that, as he had told Sam, was merely down to his uniform and the fact that he and Lou were both RAF.

They’d been entertained by a military band whilst they waited outside for the King to arrive and the presentation to begin, but Seb suspected that neither of Lou’s parents had been able to give much attention to the jolly martial music being played.

Grace felt so proud. Doubly proud, in fact: proud of her sister Lou, who was here to receive her medal, and proud too of Seb, who had so calmly stepped in and taken charge after their arrival in London, when it had become obvious how out of their depth her parents felt.

Of course she’d done her bit as well. After all, she’d been to London before. She and Seb had spent their short honeymoon in the city, and so when she’d seen that her mother was looking a bit overwhelmed by the luxury of the Savoy, the size of the city, and the realisation of just what an honour Lou was receiving and how grand the investiture was going to be, she’d suggested that she and Seb took everyone to see some of the city’s most famous sights.

What she hadn’t expected was that both Bobby and her father would want to visit Madame Tussauds Waxworks more than they wanted to see anything else. However, when Sasha had insisted
that she wanted to go as well, Grace had given in and agreed that she and Seb would go with them, even though in reality Grace would much rather have stayed with her mother, who had flatly refused to go.

It was like she’d said to Seb once they were on their own, she loved her parents dearly, but they had never been out of Liverpool in their lives. It was different for her and Seb. The war was sending people all over the place, and Grace had felt both protective of her parents and just a little bit superior to them with her own knowledge of the capital and the confidence that being a nurse had given her. She and Seb had agreed that they must quietly and tactfully take charge of the family whilst they were here in London. She was so proud of Seb for the way he had managed things without in any way taking anything away from her father. She had seen too the grateful look her dad had given Seb when he had explained one or two things to him about how the investiture was likely to be organised.

‘If anyone should be getting a medal it should be people like you,’ Sasha hissed indignantly to Bobby as they stood together, Sasha at her mother’s side, and Bobby next to her, whilst her father stood next to her mother, with Seb and Grace next to him. ‘You’re in danger all the time, and you saved my life.’

‘Most bomb disposal sappers don’t live long enough to get medals,’ Bobby responded flippantly, and then wished he hadn’t when he saw how upset Sasha looked.

‘Well, it’s more like some of them,’ he amended
quickly, ‘and only them as get a bit too cocky, I reckon, and don’t watch what they’re doing.’

‘Bobby, I do wish you were doing something else. Bomb disposal is so dangerous.’ Sasha forgot how irritated she had felt this morning with Lou, and all the fuss that was being made of her, in her anxiety for Bobby. She was proud of the work Bobby did, of course she was, and that was how she’d met him, after all, when he’d saved her life, but she hadn’t realised then how dangerous that work was and how many men died doing it.

‘You could ask for a transfer, couldn’t you?’

‘Not really. It’s only the married men that generally get transferred out, and then there’s often a long waiting list. And anyway, I like what I do, Sasha. Digging out bombs and making them safe, it makes me feel good inside, like every bomb is a bit of Hitler lying there waiting to hurt people, and when we stop it from doing that, it’s like we’ve given old Hitler a poke in the eye.’

‘I thought you said you loved me,’ Sasha told him emotionally.

‘I do.’

‘Then you should want to be safe so that I don’t have to worry about you.’ Sasha was close to tears.

‘See here, Sasha,’ he told her lovingly. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, ‘cos I was born lucky, I was. Look at how I met you. The best bit of luck I’ve ever had, that was, and no mistake. We’ve all got to do our bit, you know, and I dare say you wouldn’t think much of me as a man if I refused to put myself in a bit of danger every now and again.’

Sasha wanted to continue their discussion but Grace was leaning across their parents towards her, saying warningly, ‘Seb says that the ceremony’s about to start any minute now.’

‘Oh, look, Sam, there’s our Lou, third from the front,’ Jean whispered tearfully to her husband as those who were to receive medals came marching out of the palace to form neat lines under the eagle eye of what Seb told them was a regimental sergeant major.

‘Oh, Seb, it really is the King,’ Grace gasped, her eyes bright with pride and excitement as all those present in uniform, including Seb himself, stood to attention to salute King George as he and the Queen took their places ready to receive those about to be medalled.

It was a cool October day with a brisk wind, but no one in the courtyard seemed in the least bit concerned about the weather.

When the first two recipients had been called up to receive their honours, their medals pinned on and their hands shaken by the King, it was Lou’s turn.

‘Leading Aircraftwoman Campion.’ The stentorian voice of the official bounced round the courtyard.

She mustn’t think about anything else other than remembering she was a Waaf, and that she mustn’t let the side down, Lou told herself as she began to march toward the dais, shoulders straight, gaze fixed, her head turned toward the dais as she drew level with it, ready to salute and then stand firmly to attention in front of the King and Queen, and the Princess Elizabeth, who smiled directly at her.

There was just time for Lou to manage the small half-bobbed curtsy she had been taught and then the King was taking the Cross from the velvet cushion held by the official standing next to it, and saying in a kind voice to her, ‘Very well done indeed,’ as he handed the medal to her.

Then she was saluting again and stepping back before executing a neat turn and marching off to join the two who had been medalled ahead of her.

No sooner had she joined them than. Lou’s tummy began to rumble with hunger, reminding her that she had not been able to eat any breakfast. Such a waste, as well, when they were staying at the Savoy.

At last all the formalities were over and those who had been medalled were mingling with their families, whilst a military band played rousing music.

As Jean said to Sam later, when they were in their room getting ready to go to see the show Francine had got them tickets for, the best bit of the whole day for her–apart, of course, from seeing her daughter being presented with her medal by the King himself–had been when an RAF officer, a general, no less, Seb had told them, had come over to shake Lou’s hand. Lou had saluted him ever so smartly and quickly, and the general had said to Jean and Sam that they must be very proud of her and that the RAF certainly were.

Then, as though that hadn’t been enough, it had only turned out that the general was related to the pilot whose life Lou had saved.

Katie put down the letter she was reading, her heart heavy with a mixture of discomfort and sadness. She knew that censoring the mail was important and necessary, but sometimes when she had to read letters like this one from a girl to her young man telling him that she’d found someone else, Katie’s own tender heart ached for the recipient.

Perhaps it was those words ‘in the desert’ that had made this letter touch home so much for her, but hadn’t she vowed that she would forget about her own past, she reminded herself as she neatly crossed out the reference to the desert.

‘Katie, might I have a word?’ The voice of her supervisor brought Katie’s head up.

‘It’s a private matter really,’ her supervisor told her as she drew Katie to one side of the space between aisles of desks.

‘In my role as the Chair of my local WVS Committee I’ve been approached by the American Red Cross to see if I can help find them some suitable young women to work as volunteers in various clubs they are setting up here in London to provide suitable recreational facilities for American servicemen.

‘They have made it clear that they only want young women who can be vouched for as both capable of doing the work they will be called upon to do, and who can be trusted to behave sensibly in the company of young men.’ She paused and looked at Katie, giving her a small smile.

‘I must confess that I thought immediately of you, Katie, and if you would be prepared to take on this voluntary work you would be such a credit to me, I know. However, if you feel that you would rather not then of course I understand. It is a lot to ask, especially if you have a special young man in your life who might not approve of his girl mingling with so many young men, however properly chaperoned and respectable those meetings might be.’

Katie’s initial response, which had been to shrink from what her supervisor was asking–she had never been very much of a party girl–had given way to a certain curiosity as her supervisor continued to explain.

‘I’m not involved with anyone,’ Katie admitted, ‘but I’m not sure …’

‘Quite naturally, you’re worried about the respectability of the situation,’ her supervisor guessed. ‘My dear, I promise you you need not be. My contact in the American Red Cross was at great pains to tell me that they only intend to take on British girls who have been recommended and then thoroughly vetted. The club you’d be based at would be what is going to be called the Rainbow Corner. It’s where the Del Monico restaurant was on the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue and Piccadilly. The British Government has commandeered the Del Monico and part of Lyons Corner House, and the American Red Cross is planning to create a ‘little America’ there for homesick GIs. It’s due to open in November, and only a very high calibre of young woman will be allowed to work there. The American Red Cross will run the club, of course, but they will need to take on some British staff and they do want some volunteers as well.’

‘Well, I’d like to help,’ Katie heard herself say, ‘but I’m not sure that I’ll be suitable. What will I have to do?’

‘You’ll receive all the training you’ll need from the American Red Cross ladies in charge of the club. As I understand it, it will be a matter of filling various voluntary roles, such as answering questions about this country, helping American GIs to find their way around the city, perhaps offering a feminine ear to listen to their concerns about loved ones left at home. If you would agree you would be doing me an enormous favour.’

‘Well, I’m not sure that they will want me, but I’m willing to offer to help,’ Katie told her supervisor.

‘Bless you, my dear. I knew I could rely on you.’ Her supervisor beamed. ‘I shall take you along and introduce you myself. Would tomorrow evening be convenient for you? We could have a bite at Joe Lyons after work first and then go along to the club?’

Katie agreed.

The battle had been raging for ten days, relentless and bloody, and now the infantry were attacking the German lines inland under cover of darkness.

‘Come on,’ Luke ordered his men when he saw the signal from their officer to crawl to their forward positions.

No sooner had they got there than a burst of gunfire from a German position had Luke cursing and telling his men to keep their heads down, as they positioned their Vickers water-cooled machine gun so that they could return the German fire.

All around them were the sounds and sights of bloody warfare, but Luke was too busy watching his men and the German gunfire to have time to be aware of anything else.

Bursts of gun shots from the German position, from what Luke guessed was an 8mm gun, had him focusing on directing their own fire in retallation.

‘I think we got them this time, Corp,’ one of the men sang out, as he raised his head when the German gun remained silent.

‘Get down, you bloody fool, he’s probably holding his fire,’ Luke warned him, flinging himself down bodily on top of the younger man when his warning was proved correct and a burst of machine-gun fire exploded over them.

Luke felt the pain rip into his leg, a red-hot black hell of agony, accompanied by the sound of Andy yelling and cursing and then silence, a thick dark blank nothing.

‘The corp’s been wounded,’ Andy yelled. ‘We need to get him to a field hospital.’