A Sister's War by Molly Green (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

The librarian adjusted the comb at the side of her bun that was on the verge of falling out and took the pencil the helper offered. She wrote the address on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Ronnie.

‘Be sure to listen to your parents when making a decision of this nature,’ she said. ‘You’d be doing a man’s job and you’re just a young girl. It’s not to be taken lightly.’

‘I’m really grateful, Miss Lidbetter,’ Ronnie said, tucking the precious piece of paper into her coat pocket, desperate to make her escape.

‘Are there any books you need today, dear?’

‘Oh, no, not at the moment.’ Ronnie smiled. ‘I’d better go. I’ve tied my dog up outside and he’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’

She didn’t bother to inform Miss Lidbetter that the real truth was that it would be Maman she’d have to face when she got home – who would ask why had she been so long – not Rusty.

Ronnie wasted no time in writing a letter to the Ministry of War Transport, explaining that she’d seen a newsreel on Pathé News which had inspired her to apply for a position on the canal boats to haul cargo. Now she’d have to wait for a reply. It seemed as though she was always waiting. Surely this time she’d get the answer she was looking for.

And this time she wouldn’t let Maman come anywhere near it.

It was three weeks later when Micky turned up with the post at seven in the morning. Ronnie was up and dressed and had seen him walk up the path, but she’d given up now on the Ministry of Transport.

‘Morning, Micky. What have you got for us?’

‘One for your mother from that pilot sister of yours.’

Ronnie hid a smile, imagining how annoyed Maman would have been if she’d opened the door to the postboy who loved commenting on everyone’s letters. She glanced at the envelope. Yes, it was Raine’s large looping writing.

‘Anything else?’

‘Nah.’

The last flicker of hope died.

Then Micky glanced at the pile of envelopes in his hand, tightly bound together by an elastic band. ‘Oh, yes, sorry. One other. For you.’ He looked up. ‘It’s typed,’ he added as he handed her a long envelope, then hopped onto his bike.

‘Thanks, Micky,’ she called after him, but he just pulled his cap off and still with his back to her, put his hand up in the air and waved as he pedalled off.

She’d only been indoors long enough to put the kettle on when Maman called downstairs.

‘Véronique, please bring my post up to my room with my tea.’

Assuring Rusty she’d be down soon to give him his breakfast, Ronnie took the tray upstairs with the two letters. But first she went to her own room and tucked the typed envelope under her pillow, then picked up the tray again and knocked on her mother’s door.

‘Entre, chérie,’ Simone called.

‘Ah, the English cup of tea for all evils.’ Simone was sitting up in bed expectantly, her hair groomed, her make-up on, and wearing a white fluffy bed-jacket, looking for all the world like an actress who was waiting for the newspapers to be delivered giving the reviews of her successful first night.

‘I think you mean “ills”, Maman.’ Her mother’s eyes narrowed. She hated to be corrected on her English. ‘I’d bring you coffee if it wasn’t so scarce,’ Ronnie went on, ‘although there’s Camp if you’d prefer it to tea.’

‘Do not even use that word to me.’ Simone grimaced unattractively. ‘Camp! How can the manufacturers even pretend it is like coffee. It is more unlike coffee than any drink I can imagine.’

Ronnie laughed. ‘You’d better drink your tea then. And I have a letter from Lorraine for you.’ She used Raine’s full name on purpose. She mustn’t allow anything to put Maman in a difficult mood.

‘It will be for both of us, so hand me my letter-opener and come and sit by me. I will read it to you.’

Simone took the letter and carefully slit it open.

‘Dear Maman and Ronnie’ – Simone stopped and gave a deep sigh. ‘I so wish—’

‘Maman, you won’t stop her using “Ronnie”. Besides, I prefer it. Come on, I want to hear what Lorraine’s been doing.’

Simone shook her head but carried on reading:

‘I hope this finds you both well. I’m busy as usual but at least the pilot I’ve been filling in for is now back at work which has taken off some of the pressure. I have managed to get a decent sleep for the last two nights. But you know I’m not complaining – I love every minute of my job and still consider myself incredibly lucky.

‘Our American pilot, Dolores, brought us some luxury items from one of the American bases (as they call them) and she always shares everything with us. I now have two pairs of silk stockings – yes, two whole pairs! – a box of chocolates and a bar of soap smelling of roses just for me and a huge tin of biscuits she calls cookies for all of us. What a generous girl.

‘You will remember Stephanie who I invited for Christmas last year— Simone broke off and looked up. ‘Yes, I liked her, but I thought she was sad.’

‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’ Ronnie said anxiously.

Simone bent her head again, then smiled. ‘She is very much all right. It seems she has a nice boyfriend – although unfortunately he is another pilot.’

‘It must be difficult meeting men who aren’t pilots in that sort of place,’ Ronnie said.

‘Hmm. Now, where was I?’

‘Stephanie’s boyfriend.’

‘Oh, yes. Lorraine does not give any other details. Now she is talking of Miss Gower.’

‘That’s Raine’s boss,’ Ronnie said. ‘What does she say?’

Simone cleared her throat.

‘We women pilots have had some incredible news from Pauline Gower. She’s been telling the powers that be in the ATA that we take exactly the same risks as the men, work just as hard, and fly just as many