The Spitfire Girls(16)
‘No radios?’ Lizzie asked. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘It’s no joke that our superiors don’t want our movements or whereabouts to be detected, and we’re not trained to fly with instruments. We’re at war, Elizabeth, in case you’ve missed that very important fact.’ May’s smile started slowly, like a match to a wick, spreading down the line. ‘If that sounds too hard, you’re more than welcome to board a ship and head home.’
Lizzie smiled straight back, clenching her toes, not about to let May see that she’d thrown her off balance. ‘Radios, instruments, bad weather? Honestly, I don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about. I’m sure it’s all in a day’s work for you lot now, and the same will be true for us.’
Lizzie shook out her hair, tipping her head back as the waiter arrived with their drinks. She reached for hers gratefully and took a big gulp. What kind of fools would be expected to fly without radios? It was ridiculous! But she simmered silently, for now; once she was on base, then she’d start to make a fuss.
‘I have a feeling you’re newer to this whole thing,’ she said eventually, to Ruby. She’d noticed how perfectly starched her uniform was, as if it were almost brand new. ‘Am I right?’
Ruby’s cheeks coloured slightly, but Lizzie pretended not to notice as she took another sip. The younger of the two women was tiny – so petite and short, in fact, that Lizzie wondered how she’d even passed the minimum height requirements.
‘You’re right,’ Ruby replied. ‘I haven’t been with the ATA for long. Only months, actually.’
‘So you’re the commander’s little sidekick then? Or are you her office girl?’
‘Office girl?’ Ruby spluttered. ‘No, I’m a pilot, I mean I . . .’
‘Ruby is no sidekick, nor is she relegated to office duties,’ May interrupted. ‘She might look like a doll – in fact I was told by our doctor that a gust of wind might blow her over – but put her up in the cockpit and she’s got the heart of a lion and the bravery of a team of men. Not to mention she’s highly experienced as a pilot.’
Now Ruby’s cheeks were positively scarlet.
Lizzie laughed, and winked at her. ‘I was wondering how she’d snuck in past regulation height. I’d have sent her home the moment I laid eyes on her, experienced or not.’
‘We’re not exactly drowning in women pilots with more than three hundred hours’ flying experience, so when an application like Ruby’s passes by my desk, I don’t give a damn about height restrictions,’ May said. ‘Women were required to have more than five hundred hours’ flying experience in the beginning, but the rules have eased somewhat. Now that we’ve proven we can be trusted not to break their planes, of course.’
Lizzie chuckled then, finally seeing something about the Brit to like. ‘If a man had to demonstrate three perfect landings, a woman would be asked to do six just to prove herself, am I right?’
‘Precisely.’ May held up her glass, nodding. ‘Lizzie, it must be frustrating not to have your own national women’s squadron established yet.’
‘After Pearl Harbor I expected to hear news immediately, but so far all they want is their best women pilots flying with you Brits. No offence, but I’d rather be flying American planes in American airspace instead of being sent on some glorified work experience mission on the other side of the world.’
May shrugged. ‘No offence taken. I’d feel exactly the same.’
‘Now, tell me, how did you start flying?’ Lizzie asked, deciding to at least try to get along with her new colleagues. ‘And how in God’s name did you manage to convince a bunch of old men to let women ferry fighter planes? I’ve been petitioning for years – I want to wring all their wrinkly old necks!’
‘Do you have all night?’ May asked, brows arched high. ‘Because I did the same. The only reason we finally received a green light was because they needed us, pure and simple. And to be honest, after the Battle of Britain, we simply didn’t have enough trained pilots left. We literally ended up losing a quarter of our RAF pilots and they couldn’t spare any for ferry work. It was suddenly a case of them looking foolish by not using us, and you’ll no doubt find the same thing will happen in your country. They’ll need you, and then it’ll be the army chasing you, not the other way around.’
Lizzie waved the waiter over. ‘Another round of these, please,’ she said. ‘And what are we eating, ladies? Is there steak on the menu? I’m ravenous! Please tell me you can do a decent steak here?’ The waiter nodded. ‘Well, steak it is then,’ she continued, as the other two ordered. ‘Now, Commander Jones, tell me about your first flight. When did you become a pilot?’
May settled back in her chair. ‘I was what my parents called a flying addict when I was growing up. I was always trailing around after my older brother, begging him to take me up with him,’ she said, a smile playing across her lips. ‘When I finally started having lessons on my own, I learned at Brooklands, which was a pretty famous flying club here before the war. We both learned there. Then I went on to work for my uncle, taking punters up for joy rides. I suppose flying was in my blood.’
‘And your brother? Is he a pilot?’ Lizzie asked, intrigued. ‘I bet he’s one of the best in the air force now?’