Bluebirds by Margaret Mayhew Read Free Book Online Page A

horrible cleaning work which that ghastly sergeant had told them about when she had finished bawling at them about the silly way they had to fold up the bedclothes.
    â€˜You will all have daily duties to perform, in rotation. You will take it in turns, in pairs, to clean the washbasins, baths and lavatories in the ablutions, and the floors, windows and stoves in here . . . Each airwoman will be responsible for keeping the floor space round her bed clean and her bed and locker tidy . . .’
    The sergeant had reminded Anne unpleasantly of one of the games mistresses at school. She wondered if Army sergeants were as bad, though it wouldn’t matter to Kit so much since he was going to be an officer. Lucky Kit. He wouldn’t have to clean baths and lavatories or stoves andif his officers’ quarters were in anything like the palatial building she’d noticed here, then he’d be in clover. His last letter home had sounded pretty pleased with life.
    Atkinson and Villiers are here too, which is a bit of a lark. And Stewart turned up last week, so we’re a merry band. They’re working us fairly hard but I don’t mind that – just so long as we get a chance to have a crack at the Hun. Latimer’s going to try and join the RAF. He wants to be a pilot. Bombers, I think. Tell Anne to keep a look out for him.
    But RAF Colston was a fighter station, so she was unlikely ever to come across Latimer with the spaniel’s eyes. The ’planes that made so much noise overhead, like the one that had just made the windows rattle, were called Hurricanes – so someone had said who sounded as though she knew. They were single-engined fighters and there were, apparently, two squadrons of them stationed here – whatever a squadron might consist of. She hadn’t a clue.
    Susan Courtney-Bennet was asking something again – whether she knew some girl who had been at St Mary’s. She really was a crashing snob and just the sort of type she’d hoped to get away from when she’d left that school. That bit in Kit’s letter about him getting a chance to have a crack at the Hun had frightened her all over again. Supposing he were sent to France . . . supposing he ended up at the Front . . . supposing . . .
    Squadron Leader ‘Robbie’ Robinson was in charge of Administration at RAF Colston. Like its Station Commander, he had been in the Royal Flying Corps during the First World War and he had assumed an avuncular role among so many younger men. He had a reputation for solving all problems and it was he who immediately found an office for Felicity in Station Headquarters. Somehow he contrived to re-shuffle things so that she was able to move into a room immediately next door to his own.
    â€˜So that you’ll be under my antiquated wing, my dear. Somewhat moth-eaten and losing its feathers, but if youneed anything you can just pop your head round the door and ask.’
    His kind voice, twinkling eyes and the homely pipe, almost permanently clenched between his teeth, gave her reassurance and encouragement, as did the massive copy of King’s Regulations which he lent her ‘the RAF bible, my dear’, which sat at her elbow on her desk. She referred to it constantly and feverishly, riffling through its many pages.
    She had assigned her airwomen according to the requirements. It transpired that some could offer much more than the cooking, cleaning and clerical work supposed by the Station Commander. There were half a dozen trained shorthand typists among them, two teleprinter operators, a qualified nurse and a driver who could handle three-ton lorries. Even Gloria Gibbs, who had appeared so unpromising, turned out to be an experienced switchboard operator. She had interviewed each girl painstakingly in turn, and done her best for them with the limited opportunities. It was a great waste, she considered, that some should