Diana swallowed down the guilt that was now gripping her throat, acknowledging his pain at her leaving. Bringing her hands back together, she began to wring them in her lap. ‘I just feel I want to do something more, Dad. Something meaningful. I know I could roll bandages or knit socks here, and there is nothing wrong with that. But with so many of our boys overseas and so many of my friends already signed up…’ Her voice drifted away, allowing the silence to fill the end of her thought, and he nodded his head in resignation.
Eyeing her shiny new suitcase in the hall with obvious sadness, he sat back in his chair and took another long draw of his pipe, and Diana’s heart went out to him. She had immense love and fondness for her kind-hearted dad, his fragility creating an opportunity for him and Diana to connect on a much deeper level. While other fathers were away all day working, her father had often been at home, helping take care of her throughout her childhood. With his health issues, he had not been able to hold down a job since he’d returned from the war. And though he’d managed to do part-time work here and there, it had been her mother, Jessie, who had become the family breadwinner.
As soon as she was old enough, Diana had supplemented their family’s income, working in Birmingham’s city centre as a hairdresser. But now bigger things were calling to her and she couldn’t help feeling pulled to do something on a much grander scale for the good of her country.
Propelled by the heavy silence, she stood up and strode to the window, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Your victory garden’s looking good, Dad.’
He pointed his pipe towards the garden. ‘The lettuces will be ready soon, and you’ll miss the cabbages.’
She turned and smiled, and his warm eyes studied her. Diana thought how strange this was for him, how their roles had reversed. He had been the person to take her and meet her from school, taking his job of protecting her very seriously. Now, in a way, by fighting for their freedom, she was providing that same security for him. Some of her favourite memories were of her father meeting her on a rainy day. He would stand defying the rain at the school gates as she skipped through puddles to reach him. Then he would engulf her in his large grey tweed overcoat with the silky silver-coloured lining, escorting her under his arm all the way home so she wouldn’t get wet. Diana remembered how safe she’d felt, walking alongside him, her eyes cast down to carefully navigate her way, following his feet in the leather shoes that always shone. Enveloped by his overcoat, a fortress from the weather. Tucked under his arm, she’d loved the familiarity of being surrounded by the musky scent of his pipe tobacco, mingled with that of his favourite peppermints, which always lingered on the inner fabric.
A station announcement about her train abruptly shook Diana from her reverie. And she noticed with relief that more people had now ascended onto the platform to await its arrival. Pulling down her tight straight skirt and adjusting the belt, Diana wondered if wearing her new shoes – with the two-inch heels – had been a wise choice. She’d wanted to give a good impression and had her thick, brown, curly hair cut by one of the other hairdressers the day before as a goodbye gift, but now she wondered if she would look overdressed. She glanced up and down the platform for guidance, to see if she could spot anybody else who might be going to join up as she was. But most people seemed to be either older men or mothers with young children.
Jessie slipped her hand into her pocket and handed over a packet of peppermints to her daughter, followed by a newspaper she unfolded from her large handbag.
‘For you to read on the train,’ she stated. ‘Such a long way, all the way to London.’ The way Jesse drew out the words made it sound as though Diana were on her way to Africa. And though she was a little apprehensive, as this would be her first time in the capital, Diana was excited about what she was going to do. Her only reluctance was about leaving her home and her dad. She hoped he wouldn’t fret too much.
Diana skimmed the headlines. As usual, there was no good news. Mostly about Germany’s recent invasion of Denmark, Norway, Belgium, the Netherlands and France, also the preparations for the anticipated invasion of England. Nazis had already started bombing the air bases all over the country, and the Battle of Britain, as it was being called, was being waged in the sky over the English Channel.
All at once the train appeared, chugging up to the platform, its steaming, smoking presence dominating the station. It was two minutes early, and Diana’s heart leapt to her throat. This was it. She was going. Turning to her mother, she hugged her tightly. ‘Take care of yourself and Dad for me.’
Jessie rubbed comforting circles on her daughter’s back as she whispered into Diana’s hair, ‘And you take care of yourself.’
Pulling away, Diana fought her brimming emotions. Noting a hint of her mother’s flowery perfume had rubbed off onto her own cheek, she turned towards one of the doors. She hadn’t realized how this would feel. All she’d been centred on was getting to the barracks in London. But now she felt such a wave of sadness. If the Germans did attack Birmingham or London, would she see her family again? What would life be like in Britain if the Germans occupied it? She quickly pushed the thoughts from her mind. She couldn’t think like that. Mr Churchill had been clear, they all had to be strong and make Britain proud.
Turning to kiss her mother quickly on the cheek, she stepped up onto the train and started to stride down the carriage, waving to Jessie through the windows as she went. Her mother stood resolutely and watched her daughter and slowly lifted her hand in a reluctant wave. And Diana thought she saw a tear leave her mother’s eye. This was so hard, so much harder than she had expected. As she continued to walk the length of the train, many of the carriages were already full, but finally, she eyed a vacant seat in one and made her way towards it.
Sliding open the door just as the train started to gain momentum, Diana was thrust inside and didn’t see the bag on the floor before she tripped over it. Falling forwards, she was saved by a pair of arms, clad in green paisley knitwear, that grabbed hold of her before she toppled to the floor. The young woman who had caught her deposited her into the worn brown leather seat opposite as Diana tried to right herself, taking in the worried face of the fellow passenger who had saved her.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I just pulled it down for a second to fish out my knitting and forgot all about it,’ said the woman, who had lively eyes, a shock of red curly hair, and a strong Scottish accent.
Diana caught her breath and straightened her hat, a smile breaking out across her face. ‘Well, it wouldn’t do for me to break my leg before I even get down to start my war work, now, would it?’ she joked.
The other young woman’s face softened with relief at Diana’s forgiving tone. ‘Let me help you,’ she implored as she went out into the corridor to retrieve the brown suitcase that was still in the doorway where Diana had dropped it. Then, with little effort, the young woman hoisted it up into the netted luggage rack overhead.
Picking up a ball of blue wool and knitting needles that had fallen from her lap to the floor when she had leapt up to save Diana, she added, red-faced, ‘I always knit when I’m nervous, and I have to be honest with you, I’m very nervous. Thought I would get started on a scarf to go with my new uniform. And look at me’ – she secured her own large carpet bag back in the overhead rack – ‘I can’t even take care of people on our side, never mind take on the Nazis.