Moral Fibre

Kirkby Village
29 April 1945

Somehow, Georgina got through another week, but her emotional state had become noticeably more fragile. Now when Kit’s earrings brushed her neck, they chilled her; rather than his kiss, she felt the breath of death. She hovered on the edge of a complete break-down, but tried to hold herself together, not wanting to go to pieces as she had after Don’s death. While she kept tears at bay, her energy levels sank desperately low. She struggled to get up, get dressed and go to school. At the weekend, she did not bother to wash her hair or make herself look nice. Listlessness set in. She wondered vaguely what was the point of anything?

It didn’t help that the Ministry of Health, which had responsibility for school evacuations, announced the “imminent” return of all evacuees to their homes. The city schools relocated to rural “refuge” areas to escape the ravages of German bombings no longer had anything to fear. The Ministry ordered them to return to their own premises — assuming they were still standing. The impending exodus of Old Palace School pupils and staff to London rang the final death knell for Kirkby Grange School. The government subsidies per evacuated child that had kept Kirkby Grange solvent throughout the war disappeared with the evacuees and their teachers. With the fee-paying student roll depleted both by the war and the horror of having to share the school with deprived children, there was only one decision left to take. Miss Townsend announced the closure of Kirkby Grange School with fortitude, but Georgina saw through her stoic demeanour; behind her brave façade, the headmistress had been broken.

That was the way Georgina felt, too, as she sat in her faded dressing gown leafing through the Sunday morning papers apathetically. They described a devastating air assault on Hitler’s prized retreat, his “Eagle’s Nest,” at Berchtesgaden in the Bavarian alps. 617 Squadron had led the attack, dropping Tallboys and Grand Slams to mark the target for some 400 additional aircraft of Main Force. Even to Georgina that sounded like excessive force just to obliterate the dictator’s home. She turned away from the article without the faintest interest in clipping and saving it. Kit hadn’t been flying.

Her attention turned instead to accounts and photos of a massive humanitarian effort to end the famine in the western Netherlands. Hundreds of British and American bombers were dropping grain, powdered milk, powdered eggs, and other vital foodstuffs at specified points. “Flying in at only a few hundred feet to prevent the sacks from bursting and the food from pulverising on landing, RAF and USAAF aircraft have already delivered tens of thousands of tons of vitally needed supplies to the starving Dutch population,” the journalist wrote. A few hundred feet? Georgina scoffed mentally. Kit would have delivered the packages at fifty feet. Then again, at least the story spoke of human kindness rather than the reverse. Several aerial photos showed signs made out of bedsheets that spelt out “Thank You”.

The telephone rang. Georgina looked over indifferently. It couldn’t be Kit, so why should she bother answering? Then she remembered that Mrs Radford was treating a dog with a broken leg, and Fiona was out somewhere. She was alone in the house. It was probably one of Mrs Radford’s customers and might be an emergency. She must at least take a message. She dragged herself to the telephone and answered in a dull voice. “Radford residence.”

“I’m trying to reach Miss Georgina Reddings,” an unfamiliar male voice declared.

“Speaking.” Georgina’s voice sharpened and her body went rigid with dread. It was almost certainly the Red Cross with confirmation of Kit’s death.

“This is the adjutant of 617 squadron. British army units have overrun a Wehrmacht hospital and found Flight Lieutenant Moran.”

“Alive?” Georgina gasped out. “Kit’s alive?” On one level she couldn’t believe it, and on another she was already starting to feel giddy with joy.

“I must warn you, Miss Reddings, that Flight Lieutenant Moran was severely injured in the crash. Until RAF medical personnel have had a chance to examine him, I can’t give you any prognosis regarding his chances of full recovery. The station medical officer has agreed to fly across in one of our aircraft this afternoon. We’ll bring him back and see that he gets to an RAF hospital at the earliest possible opportunity. If you wish, I can arrange for you to be granted access to the station to meet the aircraft when it touches down here this afternoon. Although you’ll have only a moment or two, you would be able to see Flight Lieutenant Moran during the transfer.”

“What time should I be there?” Georgina answered, her head filled with images of Kit burned beyond recognition, or with a broken back or missing limbs. She remembered with horror how he’d always said he would prefer to die than to live as a cripple. She had argued the opposite. The time had come to prove her moral fibre. This would be the greatest test of her love.