Not Thinking of Death Read online

  Not Thinking of Death

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Copyright

  Not Thinking of Death

  Alexander Fullerton

  Publisher’s Note

  This book is set during World War II, and includes views and language on nationality and ethnicity that reflect those common at the time. The publisher has retained this terminology in order to preserve the integrity of the text.

  And nothing to say and the glasses are raised, we are happy

  Drinking through time and a world that is gentle and helpless

  Survives in the pub and goes up in the smoke of our breath.

  The regulars doze in the corner, the talkers are fluent;

  Look now in the faces of those you love and remember

  That you are not thinking of death.

  From Pub by Julian Symons

  Chapter 1

  June 1941

  At Hatfield she left the Anson in the care of the ferry pool’s maintenance crew, who’d been waiting for it, and accepted a lift in their pickup to the ATA women pilots’ Mess. It was getting on for 9pm on this pretty summer evening when she handed in her flight chits at the office; the light was dying out there, and the sunset which she’d had as a blaze behind her left shoulder during the flight from White Waltham had melted into a darkening peach-tinted glow with the hangars solid black against it. There’d been a weight of anxiety in the back of her mind all day, and it was in the forefront now: nothing to do with the flying, simply whether or not there’d be a message here from Chris. There hadn’t been last night when she’d ’phoned in from the hotel at Banbury. She’d ’phoned home – which was in Scotland – too, and her mother had had nothing for her, had told her ‘Don’t worry so much, Suzie darling! He’ll be back in good time, I’m sure!’

  Stupid damn thing to say. And – all right, Mama meant well, wanted only to calm her down, but she’d been thinking solely of the wedding, not for a moment of the fact that if Chris’s submarine was overdue – well, for Christ’s sake, you could postpone a damn wedding, but—

  Biting her lip. Calming herself down. Telling herself Get cleaned up, then a snack… And please God there will be a message… Not necessarily here, he could have left one with her landlady, in the village. But he’d be more likely to call here, to the Mess: and she’d eat here anyway because (a) the old bag wasn’t too hot on providing meals; (b) if you left your own rations there they tended to disappear, the stock excuse being ‘Oh, that went off, dear, I had to throw it out.’ Pushing into the changing room, she could hear Churchill’s voice coming from somewhere along the corridor – that now familiar, rasping tone… She’d thrown the door shut behind her but it jerked open again and Winston’s voice boomed more loudly: ‘We shall fight him by land, we shall fight him by sea, we shall fight him—’

  ‘In the air, presumably. Must say I thought some of the chaps had been doing so, quite successfully…’ Jill Blessington shoved the door shut with her heel. ‘Hi, Suzie.’

  ‘Hi. Our Master’s Voice again. What’s gone to pot this time?’ She’d dropped her helmet and goggles and leather gauntlets on the bench: ripping open the jacket with its Air Transport Auxiliary 1st Officer’s gold stripes on the shoulders. Jill, who was a year or two older than Suzie – Suzie being twenty-two now – had less than half her flying hours and only one stripe, as yet. Suzie asked her, moving her dark head towards the source of the Prime Ministerial broadcast, ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Hitler’s invaded Russia. Could be a break for us, they’re saying.’

  ‘That what he’s saying?’

  ‘In a nutshell he’s saying let bygones be bygones with Uncle Joe, we’ll fight the bastards together.’

  ‘Don’t have much option, do we?’

  ‘I suppose not. But the great thing is the Germans are less likely to invade us now, aren’t they?’

  Suzie nodded. ‘I suppose that is something.’ She was changing into a skirt instead of the slacks she’d been living in. Thinking, historic moment, probably. Sunday, 22 June 1941. Remember it, tell one’s grandchildren. Three days before my wedding this was, I’ll tell them. Boring them to desperation, no doubt: and may that be the least of their problems, the little sods… Jill asked her, ‘You were stuck out last night, were you?’

  ‘Was indeed.’ Buttoning the skirt. ‘At bloody Banbury. Brought a Hurricane from there to White Waltham this afternoon. I took an Oxford up to Prestwick yesterday, then a Hudson Kirkbride to Ternhill. Still don’t like Hudsons… Spent last night at Banbury intending to take off first thing with the Hurri, but it wasn’t fit to fly until well into this afternoon. Ancient specimen – Mark 1, pre-war. Then a taxi Anson from White Waltham. And here we are. How about you?’

  ‘Oh – usual. Short hops, you know… Listen – what I came to say – you had a telephone call—’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘No – not your Chris. Sorry – should’ve warned before I spoke, shouldn’t I.’

  Damn right you should… Controlling it, though: aware of how tired she was – and hungry – and that her nerves were jumpy… Jill smiling at her, asking brightly ‘Guess who it was, though?’

  She waited for it. Not caring all that much: since it had not been Chris.

  ‘Rufus Chalk?’

  She’d flinched. Then thought, Doesn’t make sense… On the edge of the bed with her knees drawn up, her arms around them, bent forward so that her face was hidden for a moment… Jill added – began to, looking down at her – ‘He’s – well, obviously, he’s Diana Chalk’s—’

  ‘He’s also Chris’s commanding officer. Didn’t you know?’ Jill didn’t, of course – hadn’t, until this moment. Suzie told her – flatly, patiently – ‘I first met Diana through Rufus. At my parents’ house – several years ago. They’d only just got engaged then. If it hadn’t been for Diana I’d probably never have learnt to fly. And it was through Rufus that I met Chris. Getting the picture – Jill dear?’

  Rueful smile… ‘One lives and learns.’

  ‘Doesn’t one, just.’ A new thought struck her. ‘Speaking of Diana – is she around?’

  ‘Uh-huh. She’s stuck out, too. He asked for her – after I’d told him you weren’t back yet, and he said he’d try again later. But he didn’t ask for her to—’

  ‘At Dundee, is he?’ She saw the other girl’s nod. ‘Well, I will ring him.’

  ‘He said you’d have the number, but if you had problems getting through to him – knowing what the lines are like – he’d—’

  ‘How did he sound?’

  ‘Well – normal – I should think. No panic, no—’

  ‘Panic.’ Suzie shrugged. Agreeing that there wouldn’t be. She knew about panic. About terror. In recent years, she’d plumbed the depths. She shook her head: you learnt some lessons, but there was no immunity. She was on her feet again: petite, trim figure taut with worry. ‘There can’t be anything wrong.’

  ‘Some duty thing, perhaps, he couldn’t get to a ’phone so—’


  ‘Yes. That must be—’

  ‘So come on. Supper, then call him. If he hasn’t tried again by then, eh?’

  It made sense to eat first. Even though it meant putting up with the others’ chatter while she was doing it: chatter about her wedding to Chris, in particular, this being scheduled for the 25th – Wednesday, three days’ time – at home, Glendarragh, in Perthshire. She’d arranged for her leave to start on Tuesday, day after tomorrow, and she was counting on getting an airlift northward. There were ferrying flights to Prestwick all the time: but alternatively she might get herself to Donybristle, the Fleet Air Arm receipt and despatch unit, or RAF Edzell, a repair and storage depot. So, no problems there…

  And if Rufus was in Dundee – well, so was Chris, for God’s sake!

  She’d been letting this situation get her down a bit, she knew. She did always worry, when he was at sea. Well, God… And with the wedding coming up, having to count the days, no matter how full and strenuous one’s own were, each night had been another small ordeal, a further tightening of the screw. On the one hand had been the fact they were overdue – which could mean nothing more than a few days’ extension of a patrol, but could also, especially at night when the mind was so much more vulnerable, carry implications that were – unacceptable. (Unacceptable if there’d been any choice. There never was, of course: the only option lay in your own reactions. As once before – that real nightmare, which had a tendency to hang around.) But that – the fact they’d been overdue – had been one side of the vice; it wasn’t now, since Rufus was back and Chris obviously had to be too: and the other – present tense – was her own state of mind.

  Not that there was any question of not going through with it. She loved him, was in love with him – and he was with her.

  So shut your mind: get on with it.

  They’d fixed the wedding-date between them – she, Chris and Rufus, those two deciding it was an odds-on bet that their submarine – their ‘boat’, as they called it – would be in Dundee by that date and for roughly a week after it. Which would allow for a few days’ honeymoon, therefore. Most submarine patrols – those out of Dundee, anyway – had a reasonably predictable duration of between fourteen and eighteen days – at this time of year, when constant daylight up in the Arctic Circle prohibited long-range patrols to northern Norway – and there was normally a rest and maintenance period between patrols of about a fortnight. Less of course if there was any flap on, when all the boats had to be turned round fast and pushed out again; but in hopes of ‘normal’ circumstances, Rufus had agreed with them that the 25th would be as safe a bet as any.

  Surely was, too. Rufus would have been making the call because Chris for some reason couldn’t get up to the mess, up on that hill above the dockyard. Suzie had visited Chris there, was visualizing the town and docks while she ate her supper. There must have been some reason he’d had to stay on board the damn submarine. He was its first lieutenant, Rufus Chalk’s second-in-command: he’d be coping with some technical problem or other, and Rufus would have told him, ‘I’ll ring her, tell her she’ll hear from you tomorrow.’ Something like that.

  * * *

  The call came just as she’d finished and had taken a few sips of coffee that was too hot to drink. The telephone, in the passage outside the mess, had rung three or four times in this past quarter of an hour; when it rang again and someone answered it then yelled ‘Suzie Cameron-Green! Suzie, telephone!’ she actually ran to it: thinking Could be Chris, this time…

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Suzie – Rufus. I tried earlier but—’

  ‘I know, I had the message, I was going to call you back. Just had to get a bite first, I was famished.’ She paused fractionally; then asked him, ‘Where’s Chris?’

  ‘Well, that’s why I’m calling. Thing is – first thing is he’s perfectly all right – nothing to worry about at all. But – I’m sorry, truly very sorry – you’re going to have to postpone the wedding. Damn nuisance and disappointing, I know, but—’

  ‘Postpone…?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Suzie.’

  ‘For how long – and why?’

  ‘This is – difficult… Public telephone, walls having ears, all that. I can’t give you much explanation. In fact as to how long I couldn’t say anyhow – I mean I don’t know… But you don't have to worry – as I said—’

  ‘Tell me what you can?’

  ‘Well.’ The pause probably lasted only about three seconds, but it seemed much longer. Then: ‘All right, Suzie. Just this. Another first lieutenant went sick, and he’s taken his place. So he’s – away now, and—’

  ‘Are you saying he’s gone straight back out on patrol?’

  ‘I know how you must feel. And I am sorry. Frightfully disappointing – and a damn nuisance, all your arrangements… But – there wasn’t any alternative. If there had been, I’d—’’

  ‘Surely there’d be a dozen or more other first lieutenants who might have—’

  ‘No – the change-over didn’t take place here, you see. There was no choice, no option – believe me, Suzie. I can’t name – oh, location, or—’

  ‘Which boat is he in now?’

  ‘Have to go easy on ships’ names, too. It wouldn’t mean anything to you, anyway. But listen – I must explain one angle – mine, partly, but your question “how long” – you see, I’ll need him back with me when I’m next ready to push off.’

  ‘So when he does get back from this other—’

  ‘Exactly. I’m sorry, but—’

  ‘Couldn’t you take someone else in his place? So he’d—’

  She’d checked herself. In the short silence, she heard Rufus clear his throat. ‘It’ll be a few weeks before you two can get spliced, Suzie. I’m just giving you the facts of the situation, there’s nothing else I can—’

  ‘All right.’ She took a long breath. ‘All right. I understand. At least, I—’

  ‘I’ll telephone again if or when I have any fresh news for you. I might get word when he’s on the way back. Might – not saying I will, if you don’t hear from me it won’t mean bad news, but—’

  ‘I know. I understand. And – thank you, Rufus. I’m sorry to be so stupid.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense!’

  ‘Caught me off-balance, rather. Just got back from some delivery trips – we’re working flat-out, all of us.’

  ‘But you’re well, Suzie, are you?’

  ‘I’m – sparking on all cylinders. And you, Rufus?’

  ‘Fine. Listen – will you tell his parents – and your own, of course – that it’s postponed? I’ll tell Patricia.’

  ‘Oh, but she’s still away. Long enough this time, I must say. Left before you did, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’ A pause… ‘Yes. She did.’

  ‘Well.’ Suzie crossed her fingers. ‘Any day now, I’m sure. Don’t worry – she will come back to you.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘She is my sister. We don’t have all that many secrets from each other.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And good luck – to you both. I only wish—’

  ‘You’ve no idea how long she thought she’d be away?’

  ‘No. Not sure she ever knows. But—’

  ‘No… Well – changing the subject – slightly – I gather Diana’s not on the home base at this moment?’

  ‘Stuck out somewhere. I could find out where, if you like.’

  ‘No – thanks. She’ll telephone, when she can. She knows we were due in about this time.’

  ‘Three days ago, I thought.’

  ‘Some married life, eh?’

  ‘Well – exactly… Your example right under my nose, and I – truly must be raving mad!’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not at all. It won’t be like this for ever, Suzie – not for you, I mean. Light at the end of the tunnel, that’s the thing to keep in mind. Chris’ll be through the wringer too, remember, with your flying… But – well, as someone we both know tends to say – A
lles sal reg kom. Huh?’

  The quote, in Afrikaans and meaning ‘All will come right in the end’, was a phrase used quite often by Diana, Rufus Chalk’s blonde and leggy South African-born wife. She was an ATA Flight Captain now: was also, incidentally, seeing rather a lot of a Belgian ferry pilot by the name of Jacques Vemet. Of whom Rufus had probably never heard… The Germanic-sounding aphorism was an irritant in the back of Suzie’s mind: partly because she had good reason to know that it was not by any means always to be counted on. Unlike Rufus Chalk, who always could be. She was seeing him in her mind’s eye – tall, red-headed, stooping slightly at the ’phone, with that thoughtful, quietly determined look of his: quiet-voiced too, telling her, ‘Don’t worry about Chris. No reason to – honestly. A few weeks’ delay isn’t the end of the world, is it. Suzie dear – look after yourself?’

  ‘Well – you too. And – thanks, for—’

  He’d hung up – cutting short the thanks he didn’t need, and leaving a whisper in her mind as the line went dead, I love you too…

  Chapter 2

  June 1937

  For Rufus Chalk it started four years earlier, four years almost to the day – or rather evening, the evening on which he first set eyes on Suzie Cameron-Green. The calendar date wasn’t in his mind, but he knew it was the day the Duke of Windsor married Mrs Simpson, which establishes it as 26 June 1937; and he had a clear visual and audial memory of Suzie’s father, Sir Innes, holding a match to the bowl of a pipe and muttering between puffs, ‘So they’re man and wife now. Ye Gods!’

  There’d been mention of the wedding on the six o’clock news, to which they’d just been listening; and in the same bulletin a report of the fall of Santander to General Franco’s troops.

  ‘Damnable. Really – damnable’. Sir Innes dropped the spent match into the cut-off end of a brass shell-case. ‘But—’ lowering himself into a vast and rather decrepit armchair, and gazing across the room at Chalk — ‘at any rate it’s over and done with, now. Water under the bridge – long live the King, eh?’