The Skylark's Secret(19)
I sigh and settle the photo frame back in its place on the sideboard.
Daisy begins to fuss, as if she can sense the slide in my mood. I pick up another photo. This one is of Mum and she’s wearing the dark uniform of the WRNS. The severity of the tailored uniform contrasts with the informality of her pose, leaning against the bonnet of a military jeep, her hair blowing in the wind. She’d have been about twenty then, I suppose. The most striking thing about the picture, though, is the expression in her eyes. Just like my own in the previous photo, they are shining, radiating the purest joy as she gazes at whoever is taking the picture. I swallow hard as tears threaten to spill on to Daisy’s rose-gold curls. Mum looks so carefree, even though they must have been hard times, those war years. I feel almost certain that the person taking the photo was my father, even though I know so little about him. I remember my conversation with Bridie Macdonald on the road the other day and wonder again what it might be that she is so loath to reveal. Next time I’m passing her house, I’ll invite myself in and get her to tell me what she knows, I resolve. It’s my history, after all, my parents’ story.
I run the tip of my finger over the outline of my mother’s face, gently tracing the contours of her smile.
Yes, I think, my dad must have been the one behind the camera. Because I know how much she loved him. There was no one else who could have made her look that way.
Flora, 1939
‘Gently lift your foot off the clutch and press the other one down on the accelerator at the same time.’
The truck lurched forward, taking out a couple of the oil drums that had been set out to mark a course for steering practice.
‘Oops, sorry,’ Bridie said cheerfully.
The lieutenant in the passenger seat sighed deeply, grabbing the handbrake to bring the vehicle to a standstill before its fledgling driver could wreak any more havoc. ‘I should be paid danger money for this job,’ he grumbled. ‘Teaching you Wrens to drive is far more dangerous than being out on the deck of a pitching ship in a Force 8 gale, if you ask me.’
In the back, Flora and Mairi clung to the edge of the bench seats that ran along the sides of the truck and tried not to shriek with a mixture of laughter and nerves.
‘Right, let’s try that again. Think about how your friends did it. Slowly and gently. I said SLOWLY!’
This time, with a loud crunch of the gears, the truck jolted towards the group of Nissen huts at the edge of the parade ground, swerving just in time to miss the camp’s commander, who had stepped out to watch the proceedings.
‘Och, I think I’m getting the hang of this double-declutching thing now,’ Bridie called out over the roar of the motor as she stamped both feet down on the pedals. ‘Just let me try that again.’
The lieutenant sighed once more. It was going to be another long afternoon. ‘Let’s take a break,’ he said. He turned to address Flora and Mairi. ‘You two can go and report to the office. You’ve passed.’ He signed his name on the bottom of a couple of forms and handed them over. ‘Give these to the officer at the desk. He’ll let you know which detail you’ll be assigned to. Now,’ he said, bracing a hand against the dashboard and turning back to Bridie, ‘let’s give it another go . . .’
It was dark inside the tin hut, where a makeshift desk had been set up next to a small window that allowed a square of winter light to enter. It took a moment or two for Flora and Mairi’s eyes to adjust. They stepped forward and proffered the forms to the orderly sitting at the desk. He took them without a word and began writing the girls’ details on to cards for filing. Once he’d finished, he looked up at them. ‘Miss Gordon. Miss Macleod. Report to Hut Eight. They’ll sort you out with your uniforms. You’ll be assigned for general driving duties on a day-to-day basis and ambulances when needed. Welcome to the Wrens.’
Blinking as they stepped back out into the open air, Mairi grinned at Flora. ‘We did it!’ They watched for a moment as out on the parade ground, Bridie appeared to be making headway with her driving, too, negotiating the oil drums without sending them rolling in all directions now. ‘Looks like she might be joining us soon. And there’s Hut Eight.’ She pointed to the row of newly constructed buildings at one side of the small bay.
The toot of a horn made them look round. A car had pulled into the camp, and a uniformed figure waved to attract their attention.
‘It’s Alec!’ Flora exclaimed, joy brightening her face like sunlight on water.
He strode towards them, arms outstretched. ‘Flora, Mairi, have you joined up? That’s wonderful news! I’m glad I’ve run into you because I have something to tell you, too. I’m being assigned to duties here, helping to commission the port. We’re needing a good signalman and I’ve suggested Ruaridh, since he knows the lie of the land and every inch of the loch like the back of his hand. It’s not definite yet, but I’m hoping he’ll be transferred.’
The surge of hope in her heart was so powerful that Flora couldn’t speak.
Alec smiled down at her. ‘Wouldn’t that be something? All of us back here together, just like old times? He might even be home in time for Christmas.’
‘That would be the very best news possible,’ Flora replied, finding her voice again. ‘Having Ruaridh back. And you, too, Alec. Thank goodness you weren’t one of those hurt when the Nelson was blown up.’