Mellanby, North Yorkshire
Lana read Dickie’s letter for the umpteenth time. It was dated 23rd August 1941.
My darling dearest girl,
I hated leaving you for yet another tour but I’ll be home before you know it. I can’t wait to see your lovely face again, to bury myself in that wonderful hair of yours, but all I have at the moment is your photograph. I’m gazing at it now as I write this.
I miss you so much, Lana. When I get my next shore leave we’ll go on long walks, hand in hand.
Keep safe for me, darling. I long to hold you in my arms again. I love knowing my grandmother’s ring is nestling between your breasts, but it’s hidden, and I want to put it on your finger to let the whole world know we’re engaged to be married – the sooner the better. I know you prefer to wait so we can tell your parents together, but it’s so frustrating with this damned war.
Give my love to them, and if you get time, I know mine would love you to call in at number 10. You’re always welcome – you know that. If you let them know ahead, Mum will make your favourite liver & bacon dish.
Will close now and try to get a couple of hours’ kip before the next shift. Will write again soon.
I love you so much.
Dickie xxx
Lana blinked back the tears. Her dearest love. He’d worked in their special code – created by them because of the severe censoring of all letters between members of the armed forces and their parents, wives and girlfriends. She loathed liver, but it meant he’d be docking at Liverpool, and his parents’ address at number 10 meant he’d be home in the tenth month – October. She couldn’t help smiling as his parents’ number had changed more than once to suit his homecoming date.
Her hand automatically touched the ring – Dickie’s ring that she’d put on a fine gold chain and worn around her neck ever since he proposed to her on her birthday, 6th August. Today was 4th October, the month he said he’d be home. As usual, the letter had taken several weeks to arrive. This was October, yes, but the year was now 1942. Fourteen months since his proposal, she calculated, and the diamond and ruby ring was still around her neck.
February 1943
‘Is there something wrong, dear?’ her mother said, her voice anxious.
‘The ATS won’t accept me for driving,’ Lana said dully, as she slid the sheet of paper back into the envelope.
Her mother’s eyes widened. ‘Why not? An intelligent young woman – healthy—’
‘Seems I’m not.’
‘What—?’
‘They say I’ve got flat feet. I’d never be able to march. They might be able to find me a job in an office as a civilian – well, they can forget that.’ She rounded on her mother, the gold in her hazel eyes flashing. ‘The woman who interviewed me more or less said they’d welcome me with open arms as an experienced driver. Some welcome.’
‘Well, at least you haven’t got anything serious,’ her mother said calmly. ‘You had me worried for a moment.’
‘You don’t understand,