The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,42
always painted pillar-box red (‘because you never know when the next hot guy might happen along’). Anna and I were both a little in awe of her when we bumped into her that day at Austin Reeds, but we soon found ourselves scooped up under her protective wing, heading, right there and then, in fact, to her flat in Chelsea for cocktails before venturing out into the blacked-out London night dressed in our new uniforms.
And now, here we all were, together again at the Central Flying Training School, RAF Upavon. The three of us having been selected for a flying conversion course to learn to fly the most iconic and beautiful flying machine ever created – the Supermarine Spitfire. Edward was right, if you dreamed hard enough, the very best things really could happen.
For the first few days our feet were kept firmly on the ground, spending time in a classroom or in a hangar listening to our RAF instructor, learning the basics. But there was no substitute for the real thing and today – 21 March 1941 – was one of the best and most important days of my life, because today was the day I would fly the Supermarine Spitfire for the first time. I could not wait to jump into that wonderful little cockpit, start her up and hear the sound of the Merlin engine purring through my soul. But Anna’s nervousness was not without merit. The first flight was to be a solo flight because all the aircraft at Upavon were single seat, which meant that there was no room for an instructor in the back, which meant there was no room for error, either. Going solo would require a strong nerve and absolute confidence.
Carrying our parachutes over our shoulders while walking out to the line, we met our instructor on the apron. He was a dour and aging Squadron Leader called McCormack (or to Marie, ‘that damn, condescending sonofabitch’) who was afflicted with a dodgy limp and an eye for Anna’s more than ample bust. I couldn’t work out if he was simply a miserable and disillusioned old man, or if he had taken a disliking to us as women pilots. We were, after all, driving a coach and horses through what had been a bastion of manhood. Whatever his problem was, we didn’t care, because McCormack was nothing more than a means to an end to us. This was our moment and we were going to make the most of it.
A Spitfire sat on the line, shimmering in the sunshine, waiting. Marie and I danced with excitement while listening to a final chat from McCormack. We were to take turns to get airborne, fly two circuits of the airfield, then land – that was it. He glanced pointedly between myself and Marie – no heroics, he said, and no showing off. I stood between my two friends and took their hands in mine while we listened. Anna’s hand was shaking.
At the end of the chat, we were left to decide between us the order in which we would fly. Anna had no intention of going first, but Marie and I (who had eyed each other with a good-natured but steely competitiveness since the day we met) spoke over each other volunteering to go first, neither one prepared to back down. The instructor took a shilling out of his pocket and flipped it. Marie called heads. She won.
She whoopee-d, tapped me on the backside and walked towards the Spitfire with a wink and a wiggle that left the ground crew drooling. Marie paused by the port wing, taking out her Ferry Pilot’s notes, before completing her outside checks. With a final salute in our direction, she climbed onto the wing, slipped into the cockpit and started her up. With the sound of the iconic Spitfire engine echoing through the station, Marie taxied across the grass strip, turned the aircraft into wind, opened the throttle, hurtled down the runway and was airborne with her wheels retracted before the paint on her fingernails would usually have had the time to dry.
The sun glinted off the airframe, highlighting her curves in all the right places, and just like Maire on a Mayfair dance floor, the Spitfire glided around the sky with a style and panache guaranteed to turn every head in the crowd.
‘I honestly don’t think I can do it.’
I took Anna by the shoulders as Marie turned downwind to land.