Cold War

Garth did the introductions: “Assistant Section Leader Hart is one of our radar operators who handles GCA approaches. Hart, Captain Baronowsky is one of the Americans who have been dropping sweets from his aircraft to the children of Berlin.”

Kathleen’s heart missed a beat. It was like meeting a celebrity, and a smile spread across her face. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I witnessed one of your drops, and ever since I’ve wondered about who was behind them!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Assistant Flight Officer!” The intensity of his gaze was slightly unnerving; it was as if he recognized her from somewhere before although she was sure they had never met. “You talked me down when I made my first flight here in a Globemaster,” he seemed to answer her thoughts, and yet that hardly seemed grounds for the look he was still giving her. “I’ve wanted to meet you for some time and was hoping we might find time for a short chat.” He glanced at Garth.

“Oh, I think we can arrange that,” Garth agreed. “It would do me good to refresh my skills a bit. Hart, why don’t you take Captain Baronowsky over for a cuppa at the Malcolm Club?”

“I’d be delighted!” Kathleen agreed while the American thanked the Senior Flying Control Officer profusely.

Kathleen led the way with Baronowsky holding doors open for her, and she found herself gushing about what a splendid idea it was to give sweets to the children of Berlin. “They have so very little else in their dreary lives. We were told by some of the little tots that they haven’t seen chocolate in their whole lives! But it’s not just the sweets that I find wonderful! I love the idea of delivering it by parachute. That makes the whole scheme an adventure! So much better than just having some grown-up hand it out!”

The American replied modestly, giving credit for the idea to his captain, and he told her in detail about Halvorsen’s first encounter at the perimeter fence. He stressed how mature these children were. She responded by telling him of her experience watching a drop and seeing how the children pooled their catch and shared everything.

By then they had reached the crowded Malcolm Club, where they bagged a table as a crew stood to leave. Baronowsky placed their order for tea, but then he removed his cap, leaned his elbows on the table, and looked at her so intently that she got flustered. “Is something the matter, Captain?”

He shook his head slowly and then modified his answer to, “No. It’s just that I love the sound of your voice. Would you, by any chance, have been a controller in the war?”

“Yes, I was,” Kathleen answered surprised. “Why?”

“I flew with the 303^rd Bomb Group. On one mission, after we’d been badly shot up over the target, we limped back to the UK only to find it blanketed in fog. I hadn’t a clue where I was. I put out a “darky call” and a voice guided me to safety. The voice sounded like yours.”

“Oh, it was probably just the British accent,” Kathleen dismissed the story, embarrassed by his intensity.

Baronowsky shook his head. “I’ve heard a lot of British accents, Assistant Section Leader. I learned to hear the difference between POSH and not-so-POSH, between Scots and Welsh and Irish and London accents. I’m not saying I have as fine an ear as you all have — right down to a 15-mile radius—” That made her laugh as he’d wanted, and he smiled gently, before continuing, “but I’ve never heard another British woman whose voice matches the tones and cadence of the voice in my memory as much as yours. Still, I know I might just be — I don’t know — confused. So, tell me: did you ever talk down a wounded B-17?”

Kathleen’s pulse was racing as she remembered. She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I did, yes. Three in fact. Or, rather, two B-17s and one B-24.”

“My squadron call sign was Dark Maple, and the controller pretended to hear ‘Clark Gable’ — just to ease the tension. It worked. Can you remember that?”

It was coming back to her, and the Malcolm Club faded behind her memories. The palpable fear in the pilot’s voice, the low-hanging cloud, the knowledge that they might not be able to get him down safely. She nodded wordlessly.

“I knew it!” Baronowsky declared triumphantly. “I sensed you were my guardian angel from the moment our eyes met in the tower a few moments ago. I’m indebted to you, and I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity to say it. I tried to come to the tower that night, but by the time I’d seen to my killed and wounded crewmen, reported back to base, and done all the paperwork, you’d gone off duty.”

Kathleen didn’t know how to react. Finally, she said, “I suppose that makes us even because I’m grateful to you for dropping sweets to the children of Berlin.”

Kathleen felt the captain’s eyes shift to her left hand, apparently looking for a wedding ring. Her heart thrilled at the thought that he wanted to get to know her better, but before she could explain she was a widow, he’d already pulled back. In a more distant tone, he asked, “Do you have kids of your own, Mrs Hart?”

“Yes, a seven-year-old daughter,” Kathleen admitted, adding with a bemused smile, “And she’s taken it rather poorly that no one is dropping her sweets!”

That brought a laugh from Baronowsky, before he asked diffidently, “Your husband is RAF?”

That at last gave her the opportunity to explain. “He was, yes, but he was not as lucky as you were, Captain. His Lancaster went down over Berlin in January 1944.”