The Last Letter from Juliet - Melanie Hudson Page 0,43
maybe. But it’s not just that, Juliet. What if I mess-up, make a fool of myself and ruin it. This is such a big deal, you know, for womankind, I mean.’
‘Womankind? Isn’t that a bit … dramatic?’
‘No, I don’t think it is.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the ground crew. ‘Just look at that pair, over there, sniggering, waiting for us to fail. And it’s such a powerful machine, Juliet. I’ve never flown anything anywhere near as fast as a Spitfire.’
‘Neither have I! None of us have. But you aren’t going to open up the throttle and dash off into the sunset. We have to stick to 250 mph in the cruise, remember, and you aren’t even going to get anywhere near that in the circuit. And honestly, Anna, all you really need to know for the sort of flying we do is the take-off speed, the stalling speed and that landing speed. That’s it.’ I turned to face the airfield to watch Marie land. She bounced a bit and we both laughed.
‘It’s just another aircraft, Anna.’ We both knew this was a lie. ‘It has an engine, two wings and wheels. Come on, give it a go, what do you say?’ I nudged her playfully, ‘I’ll let you have my chocolate ration next month if you come back alive …’
Anna smiled and sighed.
‘Oh, all right. I’ll give it a go. But you go next. I need a little bit longer to pull myself together.’
Marie taxied in and cut the engine. She was buzzing when she jumped out.
‘Jeez Louise, that was fantastic!’ she said, throwing her arms around the instructor, who balked and blushed. Despite his gruffness, I was surprised to see that he was pleased that Marie had cracked it, and maybe even a little proud, too. Maybe we were beginning to break through?
‘They’re right when they say she’s a bitch on the ground and a babe in the air,’ Marie said, taking off her helmet. ‘And watch the rudder, it’s a bit over-sensitive, and there’s a hell of a kick back when you let off the brakes, but oh my, Juliet, the power in that thing! And she’s a talkative gal, too. She’ll shudder just before she stalls so watch for that, and that damn nose is heavy on the ground, so steady on the brakes after landing. But just wait till you feel the power – the power, Juliet—’
Marie stopped talking then, suddenly speechless. ‘Well, what you waiting for, honey. Off you damn-well go and see for yourself …’
I kissed Marie, hugged Anna who was still puce, and walked into the best dream of my life, just as Marie turned to McCormack and said, ‘Say, Sweetie, can I do that again?’
From the very first day of flying for the ATA I knew I’d found heaven. Working with women of my own ilk, fellow women pilots, most with wild and sometimes quite notorious flying and socialite backgrounds like Marie, who simply wanted to continue to fly, was wonderful. Yes, we wanted to help the war effort, of course we did, but it was pretty obvious that the initial group of women ferry pilots were flying addicts, every last one of us. I at once gave up the house in Oxfordshire and took out a lease on a pretty cottage by the river in Hamble, inviting Anna to lodge with me.
Hamble sat on the neck between the Solent and the Hamble river, conveniently close to the Spitfires that were built at the Vickers Supermarine works in Southampton. Despite the horror of the Luftwaffe bombing campaign just a few miles away in Southampton, living at Hamble was a little like holidaying at a seaside resort and sometimes, just for a moment during the day, it was possible to sit by the river and watch the birds and the occasional boat go by and pretend that all was well. But then the barrage balloons would go up, which were a frightening blot in the skyline for a pilot, or we would hear the ack-ack target practice on the Solent, or worst of all, a Luftwaffe raid on Southampton would hit, and we were catapulted straight back into the nightmare again.
But despite all of this, the atmosphere at Hamble was calm, professional and buzzing with the excitement of a group of women who were finally being allowed to show their metal. We were a fabulous band of sisters – the Attagirls. British, Polish, Canadian, American, Dutch … women pilots