The Spitfire Girls(97)

‘Pretending like we’re just regular women, when in fact we achieved the unachievable?’ Ruby added.

‘Exactly. Only if you take this position, you’ll be the one still achieving the unachievable. I’m so proud of you.’ May thought back to the day she met Ruby, the tiniest woman who’d applied to ferry planes for the ATA, but the one who showed the most potential. If she hadn’t demanded that the doctor ignore her height, Ruby might never have taken to the air and become their poster girl. Ruby had, without a doubt, been her biggest personal achievement within the ATA.

May wondered whether anyone would ever know what so many English women had done during the war, how truly courageous and dedicated they’d been to ferry every plane the military had to wherever it was needed. She looked across at Ruby. It didn’t matter. Even if no one else understood what they’d done, they would know.

‘Have you heard from Lizzie?’ she asked.

Ruby laughed. ‘Yes, and she’s being typical Lizzie. Still demanding that women pilots be allowed to fly for the military and commercial aircrafts too. That woman will never give up – she’s permanently wired to not take no for an answer.’

May smiled. The world needed more women like Lizzie to keep rattling chains. ‘If anyone can do the impossible, it’s her. I pity poor Jackson though. Do you think he has any idea what he’s in for?’

‘He deserves a medal,’ Ruby replied. ‘I doubt it’ll be easy trying to make her settle down, but at least he’s seen her at her worst.’

They both laughed, silenced only by the low roar of a plane approaching.

‘What do you say we all go out tonight?’ May asked. ‘Let our hair down and celebrate surviving this bloody war?’

Ruby clasped her hand. ‘Sounds like a marvellous idea to me, so long as Ben isn’t waiting for you?’

‘Ben can come too, if he’s brave enough,’ May replied, laughing as she watched her last pilot disembark the Spitfire. ‘Tonight I want to be with my sisters in arms.’

‘Can I confess something to you?’ Ruby asked, her cheeks flooding with colour.

May looked at her suspiciously. ‘What have you done?’

‘I may have engraved my initials into the last Spitfire I piloted.’

May swatted at Ruby, who deftly ducked out of her way. ‘Ruby! You’ve vandalised air force property!’

‘After everything we’ve done for them, I think it’s the least they could let me get away with.’

‘Says the only woman asked to join the air force!’

They both guffawed, and May knew in that moment that she’d miss her days with the ATA for the rest of her life. Nothing would ever come close to the work they’d done or the friends they’d made, and she would cherish that for as long as she lived.

‘You ladies waiting for me?’ Sarah, the pilot, called out, shaking her shoulder-length hair out of her helmet.

‘We’re going out to celebrate,’ May called back. ‘You with us?’

Sarah grinned. ‘I’ve never heard such a grand idea in my life!’





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

TEXAS, 1945

LIZZIE

‘Honey, I’m home!’ Jackson called out playfully and Lizzie panicked, desperately trying to pick up the pieces of a letter she’d just shredded all over the carpet.

He popped his head into her office and she quickly stuffed the bits into her rubbish bin, but they fell like snowflakes and Jackson noticed at once.

‘Lizzie?’ he said. ‘What are you trying to hide from me?’

‘I finally received a reply from American Airlines,’ she said nonchalantly.

‘I’m guessing it wasn’t the response you expected?’ Jackson sat down in the big leather sofa that faced her desk.

‘Well, they had the nerve to completely ignore my pilot application and invite me to be a stewardess with them.’ She choked on the word. ‘A stewardess, Jackson. I’m one of the country’s most experienced and highly trained pilots and they asked me to serve cups of coffee!’

‘Come here,’ he said, patting the spot beside him.

‘Is it so wrong that I want to keep flying?’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s not.’

She sighed and went to him, falling into the spot beside him on the sofa. Jackson’s arm drew her in, and she relaxed against him as he kissed the top of her head.

‘They’re fools,’ he said, ‘but then so was the army, and look what you managed to achieve. Keep writing. Keep making your voice heard.’

‘Really?’ she asked, looking up into blue eyes that still managed to mesmerise her.

‘Really,’ he insisted, kissing her. ‘There is nothing, nothing that can stop you.’

She groaned and buried her face in his chest. ‘Actually, there is,’ she mumbled.

Jackson pushed her back a little, tilting her face up with his thumb. ‘Lizzie Montgomery, tell me what it is,’ he said sternly.

‘Well, let me begin by saying that I kept meticulous records of all the WASPs. Well, actually, I made the doctor at the training centre keep them, to ensure we had records of when the women had their periods to track their performance and health.’ Jackson shifted uncomfortably, but she continued, not caring if it made him feel squeamish. ‘What I’m trying to say is that the doctor found that women flew as well at that time of the month as any other – in fact we had less time off, despite having to deal with the discomfort of our periods. At most, some of the women would use a hot-water bottle during a flight to help with their cramps.’