ONLY SKYLARKS

ONLY SKYLARKS

Sophie was clearing the house up after her mother’s funeral, when she found the letter. It had either slipped down under the drawers in the chest, or had been hidden there. Sophie turned it over – the envelope was faded and bore her mother’s maiden name in a sloping handwriting. “Miss Mary Stevens” and the address of the house where she had lived until her marriage to Sophie’s father. Had her mother hidden it? Or had she just lost it? Sophie turned the envelope over and over. The handwriting was faded – the postmark unreadable. She peeped in. There seemed to be at least two pages inside. Should she read the letter? It could be from anyone. Any of her mother’s friends when she was young. But if it had been hidden? Was it something she shouldn’t read. Sophie wondered whether or not she dared open the envelope. But curiosity got the better of her and she did. There were two pages.
It was quite explicit.
“My dearest Mary, only one more mission to go and then, and then, my darling we will be together for ever. You, me and our baby.”
Sophie put it down, her heart racing. Baby? It was more than a love letter. She looked at the signature at the end. “With all my love for ever, Jet.” Jet? Jet? Who was Jet? It certainly wasn’t from her father, his name was George, and if he had had a nickname it wouldn’t have been Jet!. The letter went on to practical arrangements. Where they would meet; how they would travel to the States; his family; the wedding - it was signed,” with all my love, for ever, Jet.”
Sophie put it down carefully. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, trying to put this piece into the known pattern of her mother’s life. Who was he, this Jet? Where did he fit in? What had happened to him? Carrying the letter, she went downstairs into the kitchen, her mother’s kitchen, and found things to make tea. She searched her memories; and was quite sure that during her mother’s long life, she had never heard her mention anyone called Jet. Looking at the letter lying on the table, part of her felt like a voyeur, another part of her felt a curiosity that overwhelmed her nicer, more daughterly instincts. And so, instead of letting is contents lie like her mother, in the grave of the past, she sat and read it again, over and over.
Sophie was unusually silent on the drive home. Alec glanced across at her from the driving seat several times , but he knew his wife well enough to know that she would tell him what was bothering her in her own good time.
And that night, returned to the security of her own home, Sophie did tell him. “I want to try and find about this Jet. No, it’s more than I want, I feel compelled to find out.” She had the look on her face that her critics called ‘mulish’.
“Don’t you think the past’s better left?” Alec suggested . “It was so long ago, and all the people concerned are probably dead.”
“Alice isn’t. She came to Mum’s funeral if you remember.”
“The one in the wheelchair? Who’d been a nurse with your mum in the war”?
“Yes. I remember her coming to see us once. Years ago, when Dad was still alive. I remember that Dad didn’t like her. When she left, he gave Mum a hard time. Told her Alice was a “flighty bit of goods”.
Sophie laughed, as she recalled her mother laughing, and saying “What nonsense. She’s a respectable married woman!” And how Dad had snorted, and gone off to the allotment in a mood.

The sister in charge of the Nursing Home was pleased that Alice had a visitor. ”She’s been very down lately; since your Mum’s funeral,” she said, as they walked down the corridor that smelt, unexpectedly, of flowers, not the cabbage-water and disinfectant Sophie had prepared her nose for. “She’ll be pleased to have someone to talk to.”
While they talked, Sophie tried to see the young Alice inside the old body. Only once did a light come into her tired eyes.
“Americans? Oh, they were a wild lot! “ she exclaimed.
Sophie drew in her breath. “Do you remember Mum going out with one called Jet?” But Alice just rambled on …
“At that Lifeboat House, That’s where we were. On holiday. At the seaside. Oh, those Americans! Lovely boys, all of them.” But the shutters came down again and Alice closed her eyes. Sophie sat for another hour, hoping Alice would wake, praying for another clue, but none came.
She was disappointed, and wondered whether Alec was right. Perhaps she should try to forget the letters; sixty years was a long time. But then she thought of photographs - holiday snaps!. They might provide a clue. She got out the ancient photo albums. And she was lucky. There among the yellowing pictures of long-dead aunties was a snap of her mother and Alice sitting laughing on a beach, with, behind them, a building that could only be a disused Lifeboat House. After more hours of painstaking detective work, she turned to Alec triumphantly. “I’ve got it! Mawlby! That’s where it is. And there was an Airfield there too. It’s shown on the map. Look! ”

Sophie walked along to the beach slowly, past the fishermen’s cottages, now smart weekend homes painted in trendy colours,. She was blind to the holidaymakers enjoying the sun and sea, trying to superimpose the images of her mother and Alice as she’d seen them in the photograph. She plodded on, along the sea wall, the noise of sea and children strangely dimmed. And then, past a line of fishing boats she saw a building right on the beach. It was made of brick with a slated roof. A wooden balcony ran along one side and she could see beach towels hung over it. Could that be The Lifeboat House? She went closer, convinced now it was what she was looking for. . . . She stopped, her eyes filling with the tears she hadn’t been able to shed at her mother’s funeral. Calm again, she walked towards it. A family was having a barbecue outside on the shingle stretch in front of it. The double doors were wide open, huge double doors big enough for a lifeboat to be launched through. . She could see inside the usual seaside jumble of a family holiday. She scrambled down the beach and stood, eyes half closed, filtering out everyone on the beach and superimposing the picture of her mother and Mary. Yes, she decided, this was the place. She walked on, then doubled back to the car. Now she must find the Airfield!

“Mawlby Industrial Park” the site proclaimed in huge unwelcoming letters. . There was a wide concrete track cutting across the fields of ripening corn that could once have been part of a runway. This must be it! This must have been where it was. Sophie’s heart thudded. At first there was no sound except the wind. Then she heard a distant rumbling noise. Automatically she looked up at the sky, expecting to see a plane. But she realized it was only the noise of traffic on the distant A 12.
She drove on to the next gate, where she parked the car, and leaned and looked. The wide East Anglian skies stretched over the flat cornfields . In the distance she could see industrial buildings. A man walking his dog came down the lane towards her.
“Excuse me” she accosted him. He stopped, “Yes?”
“I’m looking for – the Airfield. Is this where it was?”
“Yes indeed.” The man replied slowly. “You’re looking at where it was, but it was all ploughed up years ago. Only skylarks fly here now.” he laughed; pleased with his joke. “Mind you, “ he continued, “ there’s a few old Nissan huts round and about. .. And do you see that square building to the right? That’s the old Control Tower . Used for storage now. ” There was a pause as they both stood, looking .“If you’re interested, there’s a monument, in the church that’s got some of their names on it.” He suggested. Sophie blinked tears away and murmured, “Oh yes! Thank you. I’ll go and have a look.”
“Well, I must be off”. The man whistled to his dog and walked on.
Sophie stood, hearing only skylarks, but imagining the roar of the Flying Fortress taxi-ing along the runway. Taking off. Imagining her mother and Alice with “That wild lot - those Americans” and wondering if she would find ‘Jet’s’ name in the church, and whether she had ever known her real father.