Heartwarming and emotional story of one girl's courage in WW2

years now – and got my A licence when I was fourteen and my instructor’s certificate when I was sixteen. I’ve logged more than twelve hundred hours now.’
‘Good God! That’s a damn sight more than I have.’ He couldn’t fail to hear her mother’s horrified gasp. Instead of being embarrassed he smiled at her. ‘I apologise for my appalling language, Mrs Simpson, I do hope you will forgive me.’
‘Apology accepted. I’ll say no more on the matter.’
He turned to Ellie. ‘I want to hear how you manage in poor weather conditions and hope you will talk to me before we leave tomorrow morning.’
Before she could answer she was instructed to clear the table and fetch the dessert. Obediently she pushed her chair back and began to collect the plates. When Greg made a move to stand up she shook her head.
Clearing the table was a woman’s job, as well all the other domestic duties that she did her best to avoid. Pudding was a sherry trifle accompanied by a jug of thick, fresh cream from their dairy herd. She placed the large glass bowl on the tray and put the cream beside it. The ham salad, again all home-grown, had been excellent but this would be even better.
Murmurs of appreciation ran around the table when they saw what treat was to come. Her mother might be a snob but she was a dab hand in the kitchen, so couldn’t have spent all her time swanning about the place with her nose stuck in the air, attending grand parties and going foxhunting.
She was about to take her place when the telephone rang. ‘Excuse me, it’s usually for me.’
‘Glebe Farm, Ellie Simpson speaking.’
‘Thank God – you need to get down here pronto. A silly bugger has gone up in the new kite and he’s still up there,’ Sid told her.
‘I’ve got to change first but will get there as soon as I can. Is Joe there?’
‘No, he rang to tell me to let this blighter take the new Moth – seems he’s a friend of his or something. I’ll have the Swallow ready for you.’
‘Let’s pray he has enough fuel for another hour.’ Ellie dropped the telephone back on the hook and raced upstairs.
Her clothes were thrown in a heap on the floor and she scrambled into her grubby dungarees. Her brother was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘What’s the flap? Can we help?’
‘You could drive me to the airfield – I’ll tell you why on the way.’
As she ran outside a smart MG sports car pulled up. Greg was at the wheel. ‘Hop in, both of you. Ellie, you sit beside me and tell me where to go.’
This left the tiny backseat for her brother to somehow fold his considerable length into – however, he didn’t argue.
The car covered the distance in a few minutes, barely time enough for her to explain what had happened.
Sid had done the pre-flight checks so all she had to do was scramble into the cockpit. The aircraft had no radio so she would have to rely on her excellent eyesight.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Greg said. He didn’t wait for her agreement but settled himself into the front seat, the one used by a pilot under instruction, and strapped himself in.
She would have preferred her brother to accompany her, but it was too late to complain. Every minute counted – the man flying the new Moth must be found and led back to the airfield. If she’d been there she would have checked the pilot’s navigational skills and knowledge of the area before allowing him to fly on his own. Apparently, the man said he was going to follow the railway line that led to Clacton-on-Sea and then come back the same way.
How the hell he had managed to get lost she’d no idea. But being lost was better than having crashed. The take-off was smooth and once she’d ascended to a thousand feet she was able to see the countryside laid out below her like a patchwork quilt.
Her passenger – co-pilot really – was scanning the landscape the same way that she was. She began to fly over the rail track whilst looking from side to side. She had a bad feeling about this. She opened the throttle and headed towards the east coast. The only place the wretched man could get himself lost was if he’d gone out to sea.
They made excellent time and completed the forty-mile journey in a little over a quarter of an hour. As long as she could still see the shore she would be able to find her way back. After two fruitless searches which took her as far as Foulness to the north, and Felixstowe in the other direction, she was about to give up when Greg pointed to a speck on the horizon that could have been a bird.
If she flew close enough to be able to distinguish what it was she would be out of sight of land. He twisted in his seat and cupped his mouth so she could hear what he shouted above the engine and the rush of air.
‘Let me fly – I’ve instrument training – we’ll not get lost.’
She nodded and relinquished her hold on the controls. She leaned out as far as her harness would allow and wished she’d had the forethought to bring binoculars. As they sped towards the circling object the shape became clearer and her spirits soared.
It was the missing aircraft. As they thundered towards it the pilot saw them and climbed away from the sea. She waved frantically and received a thumbs up from the other aircraft. Greg circled the plane and headed towards safety.
She prayed he was as proficient at navigation as he’d said as there was nothing but sea in all directions. The setting sun was obscured by low cloud which would have made it even more difficult to find one’s position.
Ten minutes later they were in sight of the coast and she began