do?’ There was a hint of disappointment in her voice.
‘Back home we had a drought that lasted almost ten years. The worst of it was when I was fifteen. By then, we’d gone so long without rain, it wouldn’t have taken much to dry up every last pond. It was so hot the leaves baked right on the trees. Dried up and fell off so it looked like December rather than July. Except for the heat. Nothing could grow and with no plants or moisture to hold the dirt down, it blew everywhere. We had curtains like you do, nailed to the window frames, but they weren’t to keep the light from getting out, it was to keep the dirt from getting in.’
Remembering those days had the ability to clog his throat. The windy dry weather was what had given Judy dust pneumonia. ‘I prayed so long and hard for rain, that, even now, almost ten years later, I still love it. Will love rain for as long as I live.’
‘How did you survive?’ she asked. ‘Your family. Being farmers.’
‘We were lucky in some ways,’ he said. ‘There’s a fair-sized lake that’s spring fed on our property. That year we thought it might dry up, but it didn’t so we had water for the animals and some crops.’ There was a row of tiny purple flowers beside the path and he stopped long enough to pluck one and hand it to her. ‘Much like you, we shared what we could with others. Any neighbour who had a way to haul water was welcome to do so.’
She took the flower and sniffed it while twirling the tiny stem between her finger and thumb. ‘That was kind of you.’
Some didn’t think so. They’d claimed his family should be hauling water to those who didn’t have a way to get it. His family couldn’t have afforded to do that any more than the next. And they’d had other things happening. Judy dying. Letting that thought go, he asked, ‘What kind of flower is that?’
‘It’s a columbine.’
‘Do they grow wild here?’
‘Yes. When I first arrived here, I dug up several that were growing among the hedgerows at Charlotte and Norman’s and gave them to my mum to plant in the flower beds at our house in London.’
She pinched her lips together then and started walking again, obviously not happy about sharing even that little memory with him. Accepting that, he took the subject off her.
‘Did all the children living with the Harrises arrive at the same time as you?’
‘No. George, Elizabeth and Jennifer arrived several months after I did. They are siblings. Then Phillip, Little George, Patricia and Doreen arrived the following spring. They aren’t related, but were all on the same train. That summer, a billeting officer brought Edward and Audrey to the house late one night. They aren’t siblings either, but had been on the same train and the officer explained no other host family was able to take them.’ Her tone was soft and she’d smiled while saying each child’s name.
‘How old are they?’ he asked, mainly just to keep her talking.
Still twirling the flower, she said, ‘George is twelve and Edward is eleven. Little George is eight and Phillip seven. Elizabeth is fourteen, Audrey thirteen, Jennifer nine, and Doreen and Patricia are both six.’
‘That’s a houseful.’
Her face lit up as and her eyes literally shone. ‘It is, but they mind well, are very helpful and get along with one another for the most part.’
‘Even the siblings?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Just curious,’ he answered. ‘My brother and I fought when we were young. He’s two years older than me.’
‘Do you have any sisters?’
‘One.’ He bit his tongue. Even after all these years he couldn’t get used to saying he didn’t have a sister. He’d had one for thirteen years and would never forget it. Judy had been two years younger than him and her death had left a hole in his family. Especially in his mother’s heart. She’d said it wasn’t right for a parent to bury a child and he didn’t want her to go through that ever again. Not wanting to explain more, he asked, ‘What about you?’
She frowned slightly while glancing his way. ‘I’m an only child, but I have a cousin.’
Not sure why her frown turned into a scowl while she pinched her lips tight and started walking faster, he asked, ‘Do their families know where they are? The children, that is?’
She blinked and kept her eyes closed for some time before saying, ‘If they still have families, yes, they know where they are.’
A shiver rippled the hairs on his arms. ‘Their homes have been bombed?’
Marching forward, she said, ‘Most of London has been hit by bombs. Most of England.’
Dale didn’t have a response for that. Couldn’t have said the bombing was over either. If Hitler had his way, it wouldn’t be over until there was nothing left of London. Of England. Of most of the world.
They had rounded the building again. While woods had been the backdrop of the garden on the other two sides, this side showed the Nissen huts, tents and other structures of the base. For a moment he’d almost forgotten they’d been walking around the huge headquarter building. A few months ago, it had been an all girls’ school. The transformation had taken place, but it still seemed odd to imagine that not so long ago, rather than hundreds of soldiers, the grounds had been covered with giggling girls.
News of the war had filled the papers and airways back home, but until he’d arrived, seen the destruction firsthand, he’d been detached from the actual tragedy that was taking place in certain spots of the world. Those over here, like Kathryn, hadn’t been. They’d been living it. Still were.
They walked in silence along that side of the building, all the way to the corner and then around the front towards where her bicycle stood.
A B-25 was coming in for a landing, the one he’d worked on earlier and sent the pilot out to put it to the test. New equipment and instructions arrived regularly and it was his job to try out new ideas on various planes, report to others what worked and what didn’t. Most of it had to do with conserving fuel. The planes needed to fly a considerable distance and back, and every drop of fuel counted.
The ground beneath them rumbled. He was used to that and the noise, but to others, the roar of those engines was considered deafening.
Although she’d tucked her chin to her chest and was cringing at the noise, Kathryn watched as the bomber touched down and then rolled up the runway.
‘That’s the same plane that—’
‘Yes, it is,’ he admitted.
She lifted her chin. ‘Do you fly those?’
‘Mainly, I work on them,’ he answered. ‘But that also means I’ll fly them when I have to. The pilot flying that one is Rooster Robins. He was at the school with me today.’ He left out the part that Rooster had been flying it the other day, too, and that the pilot knew nothing about the mishap.
‘Passing out chewing gum.’ The pinch of her lips was back, saying she didn’t approve.
‘We hoped it would make the
