Looking At The Moon

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth watched the lone hurricane surge up from its low flight path and head north after its comrades. She wrapped her arms round herself and trudged back into the cottage, then to work. For four days Elizabeth was numb, barely aware of what was going around her. She had watched the man she loved beyond life leave her, not from choice, but because of the war. Elizabeth began to feel the war was crushing her, that she could not breathe.

She felt her life was fading away. In just a few days she had begun to despair. Her picture of Robert, of his crooked smile was already dog eared, marked by her fingerprints and tears. She had started to not care about her appearance, not bother eating. Both had caused a row the day before with Hattie.

Then an event happened one that pierced the shell Elizabeth was building round herself, an event that affected everyone in the country and has never been forgotten. It brought Elizabeth back into the real world, made her realize that she must keep going, must keep living, loving and hoping no matter what happened. Because some now could not keep going; because a city had, had its heart torn out sadly one of many across Europe in the coming five years.

Mid morning Friday 15th November 1940 Elizabeth was sitting in the small canteen her hands round a cold cup of tea. She was staring out into space, going through the motions, doing what had to be done. It was then one of her fellow nurses asked for the wireless to be turned up. At first Elizabeth did not listen to the cultured tones of the BBC newsreader. Then as the gasps and exclamations of her fellows began, she strained to hear.

To name bombed cities was to confirm to the Germans that they had hit their intended targets, so news reports mentioned only, for example, that ‘a town in the Midlands’ had been attacked.

In the case of London--the biggest and easiest to find target in the world--there was little point in not naming it, but Coventry was another matter. Difficult to find in the blacked-out hinterland of central Britain, Coventry would not normally have been named, but the attack presented the British Government with a good propaganda opportunity.

For the raid was on a scale and had caused such damage, that it was held up as a symbol of what the British people were withstanding and the manner in which they were doing so.

On the night of Thursday, November 14, 1940, 552 German aircraft dropped upwards of 13,000 bombs, mostly incendiaries, on Coventry. The air-raid hit the medieval city centre especially hard, and among the buildings destroyed was the 600-year-old Cathedral of St. Michael. At dawn the following day, the cathedral’s outer shell remained standing, but the roof and the interior were gone

A worker clearing the rubble from the floor of the nave discovered two charred roof beams that had fallen at right angles to each other, forming a cross. He tied the beams together and erected them over the charred altar. This makeshift message of hope has become a permanent feature of the old cathedral.

As the details rattled out Elizabeth shuddered. She was alive, Bobby was alive; their love was alive. Others the night before had, had their dreams and love torn from them, if she gave up, she was giving up on everything.

So Elizabeth began to live, to take care of herself, to do her job, to laugh with her friends and be Elizabeth, Elizabeth who waited for the snatched hurried phone calls, and the letters that dropped through the door.

Bobby laughing as he told her over the crackling line that he hadn’t seen anyone in a kilt yet, the small stick drawing of a set of bagpipes in the corner of a letter. Both told her he was north of the border, but not where. The one time he had mentioned the station a thick black line had cut through the word. In fact the lines often trickled over the letters, she wondered if hers to him were the same?

The fact that she addressed the letters to the “213 rd RAF squadron” and gave them to Thomas not to the place and posted made her giggle. Two things came across in Bobby’s letters and phone calls. His love for her and his frustration, not at only being away from her, but at something else as well she sensed. Once Robert wrote of making love to her, Elizabeth blushed when she read it, knowing the censor had read these words. And that night her hands had wandered over her body, mimicking Bobby’s as her mind imagined it was his hand not hers.

The days got sorter, Hattie got rounder and Christmas was but a week away. Elizabeth was struggling to light the lounge fire one evening when the telephone rang. It was Bobby.

“I have a pass…” Bobby’s words were faint, crackling.

“When, for how long?” Elizabeth asked, no shouted in excitement, trembling at the thought of seeing him.

“23rd ,24th, and 25th December, three days….” Robert said slowly. Elizabeth’s heart sank. He could never make it this far south and back again in that time. “Damn it, Mrs Fitz, Liz, they might as well have not bothered.”

“Bobby, do you think, do you think…. You could make it to York for the 24th?”

“What? God, you…where.. I mean…” Bobby’s words were garbled as the line faded in and out.

“Midday, outside the Minster.” Elizabeth said quickly.

“The what?” Bobby said the confusion plain in his voice.

“The Cathedral, York Minster!”

“It’s a date Mrs Fitz.” Bobby said and then the line went dead, cut perhaps. It often happened these days the night raids hitting the telephone exchanges. Elizabeth smiled and returned to her fire, finally getting the flames to catch as they did a voice on the wireless announced an evening of popular music and the strains of a certain song began. Elizabeth sat before the smoking fire and began to cry, but they were happy tears.

Night and day you are the one
Only you beneath the moon and under the sun
Whether near to me or far it's no matter darling
Where you are, I think of you night and day.
I’ll be seeing you;
In all the old, familiar places;
That this heart of mine embraces;
All day through.

In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children’s carousel;
The chestnut tree;
The wishing well.

I’ll be seeing you;
In every lovely, summer’s day;
And everything that’s bright and gay;
I’ll always think of you that way;
I’ll find you in the morning sun;
And when the night is new;
I’ll be looking at the moon;
But I’ll be seeing you.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

December 10

My Dear Sweet Elizabeth,

It’s only been a month and I miss you so much. I think of you every minute that I’m not in the air and when I sleep I often dream of you.

Since arriving, it’s been very cold and dreary. We’ve been taking on some new pilots and finishing up their training—very boring stuff. The only bright side is that we’ve been on more standard shifts and able to get regular meals and better sleep. I may have to exercise or something to keep myself able to fit into the Lovely Mrs Fitz … wink-wink.

I love hearing from you and about the things going on where you are and your friends of course. I keep your letters with me always, along with your picture. They help me stay aware of one of the reasons for which I am here. They also remind me of the wonderful days we spent together and the many days we will share in the future.

I remember so well that one day last September when the weather was still warm and you were wearing a light summer dress. You were standing near the front window with the sun streaming in through the curtains and I could see every one of your lovely curves underneath. I remember that you asked me what was the matter since I must have been looking at you strangely. Maybe I told you that it was nothing, but I can close my eyes and see you standing there still.

And I remember later that day when I had the chance to slip that dress off of you and touch and kiss and caress every part of your body—I knew that I would love you forever! That memory and a thousand others are indelible in my mind.

I long to feel you in my arms, have the scent of your perfume fill my senses, hear the sound of your laugh, taste your mouth and your body, and see the sparkle in your eyes when I tell you of my love!

I love you, Elizabeth … I always will

With many hugs and kisses,
Bobby

Robert signed the letter with a flourish and waited for the ink to dry before folding it up to address it and post it later that morning. He read it over again and thought maybe it was too personal for there were censors reading every piece of mail that went in and out of the airfield. He laughed. Maybe it would give the horny old bastard a thrill. Robert felt that keeping those memories alive kept their love alive until they could be together.

It had been a month since he had last seen Elizabeth, but it felt like a year, he missed her so. There was his duty schedule to keep him busy. His growing stature within the service with over fifteen kills and his experience in the heat of battle all made him an influential member of the squadron. Since he was a Yank, he could never rise into the command ranks, but his leaders would often defer to his opinion when strategizing tactics and formations.

Scotland was picturesque but cold and damp in December. He longed for the south, for the warm love of his Elizabeth. One evening while shuffling through the record albums at the club he caught sight of the RCA Victor label and pulled out the platter. Dropping the needle down he heard the familiar sound of Tommy Dorsey’s orchestra and the lush trombone introduction of the melody, followed by warm voice of Frankie Sinatra. For a few moments he was back at the club in Tangmere and Elizabeth was in his arms. He played the song a second time and a third over the protestations of the bartender.

When he went outside to walk back to his billet, he looked up through the cloudless sky at the moon and he could see her face. He wanted her so much, to feel her embrace, the brush of her kiss on his lips, on his chest, on his belly, on his sex. He wanted to feel her arms around him, her little body writhing and rocking on top of him. He wanted to hear the sound of her voice calling his name, crying out with passion her love for him.

And when he retired to his bunk, he was glad that Finch was out with the boys carousing, for he was able to touch himself and imagine it was Elizabeth’s hand, her mouth, her sex bringing him to a heated sweaty climax. “Oh god! Lizzy!” he cried out loud as his seed erupted all over his belly and hand and thighs. “Oh, god I miss you so!”

* * *

It was a week later when his request for a leave was granted. Robert was immediately happy to think that he had three days to spend with her, but then he thought of the long train ride there and back and realized that their meetings would be little more than a few hours of one day. He felt discouraged but determined to see her and called her that evening with the news.

“I have a pass,” he said, hearing the line crackle and snap.

“When? For how long?” Elizabeth asked excitedly.

“23rd, 24th, and 25th December, three days,” Robert said slowly. “Damn it, Mrs. Fitz, Liz, they might as well have not bothered.”

“Bobby, do you … do … think you … make it to York … the 24th?” she asked.

“What? God, you’re falling out again. York? I can make it there. Where would we meet? I mean, yes I can meet you anywhere … just tell me,” Robert shouted as if volume would keep the line from fading.

“Midday, outside the Minster,” Elizabeth said sharply.

“The what?” Robert replied not sure what she meant. Meet the minister? What was that about?

“The Cathedral, York Minster!”

“It’s a date Mrs. Fitz,” Robert said. “I can’t wait to see you! In front of the Cathedral in York at noon!” He suddenly realized that the line had gone dead. That had happened several times lately with all the bombing in the midlands. Trying to dial up again would be of no use. It might be days before the line was restored.

The next morning Robert bought his train ticket knowing that the railways would be terribly crowded on the holidays. He looked at the calendar at Squadron Command and counted the days and hours and minutes. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that for the time seemed to move so slowly and every daily task seemed to drag out longer than ever.

But suddenly it was the 23rd and he was jammed into a coach shoulder to shoulder with a hundred other people trundling south to someplace else. The moment that people saw his uniform, they would want to ask the same five questions, and he could give out none of the answers directly.

“Where you based?” “Can’t say, sorry.”

“Where you headed to?” “Can’t say, sorry.”

“What do you fly?” “Sorry, can’t say.”

“Ever been shot down?” “Sorry.”

“How’s the war going?” “Well enough, all things considered.”

“Say, you’re a Yank aren’t you?” “No crime in that is there?”

The questions would soon fade and he was left alone. Robert curled his fingers around the small box in his jacket pocket and smiled. He closed his eyes and could see her smile. Even as he was jostled and pushed and crushed in the crowd, Robert thought of Elizabeth and smiled back at those who were in such an almighty hurry. Changing stations several times and nearly getting lost each stop, Robert rode most of the day and on into the night eventually arriving at York sometime before dawn. Toting his small bag with him, Robert spotted a small hotel near the station but there was no one at the front desk so he found a comfortable chair in which to curl up.

“Almost like the Club,” he muttered and fell sound asleep.

He was awakened by a burly man with an attitude and was told that he needed to rent a room if he was going to sleep there. Robert decided to save his money, being unsure of Elizabeth’s plans, and left abruptly. He took breakfast at a small pub nearby and toured the streets of the town, pausing to look in the shop windows and admire the seasonal decorations and displays. By eleven-thirty he was standing across from York Minster, waiting for his lovely Mrs. Fitz.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

The fire brightened, filling the room with a warm glow, but it could not match the one in Elizabeth’s heart. She dried her tears and began to think. Slowly the idea formed and the more she thought on it the more it sounded wonderful. York. It was about half way more or less. Though the city was beautiful, it was still a city, one very aware of the war. Elizabeth wanted to take Robert as far away from the war as she could, she wanted to be as far away as she could.

Her idea would mean another short train journey, of maybe an hour at most, but it would be worth it to have the time together. All of the afternoon, evening and night of the 24th and part of the morning of the 25th

The first thing she did was look at her bank balance, her nose wrinkled not that much. She rummaged in her box of papers and pulled out her old savings account, it was the account into which her small income from an old trust fund set up by her mother soon after the death of her father. She had dipped into now and then, more so lately to pay the rent on the cottage.

George had called it her mad money and in those lost days before the war it had been. Money spent “willy nilly”. Well, Elizabeth thought, she was going to spend it madly again.
She went to bed her head full of schemes and thoughts of Bobby.

The next day before going to work she rang her mother.
“Nothing wrong is there Elizabeth?” Gwyneth Clancy asked. “It is unusual for you to ring at this time.”

“No, nothing wrong, I just wondered if the Spencer’s still ran that B and B of theirs, with the war being on.” Elizabeth said quickly.

“I see…” Gwyneth replied.

“See what mother?” Elizabeth gulped, feeling a little guilty. In the thrall of knowing she would be seeing Bobby, Elizabeth had forgotten about her half promise to go home for Christmas.

“You won’t be coming home for Christmas, I understand child, you will make if for New Year?” Gwyneth Clancy’s reply was full of understanding, her unspoken knowledge of her daughter’s relationship echoing in every word.

“Yes I promise, but… “Elizabeth asked, looking at the clock. She would be late for work and she had so much to sort out.

“Yes… as far as I know Alan and Mary are still taking the odd guest, though things have not been so busy the last few months and with the war they have more work on the farm. Do you want me to ring them and find out and maybe book for you?” Gwyneth’s answer was all Elizabeth could hope for.

“Yes, I would like arrive hopefully the 22 or 23rd at the latest and.. both of us till the morning of the 25th.”

“So my daughter and a “special gentleman”” Gwyneth laughed and Elizabeth knew she was remembering the times she had taken Elizabeth there as a child and Doctor Travis had joined them for part of the holiday.

“Yes…” Elizabeth answered as the phone line crackled and threatened to fail.

“Will let you know this evening.” Gwyneth replied and said her goodbyes. Elizabeth then hurried off to work, braving the Matron when asking for leave from the 22nd to the 27th then 31st to the 2nd .

“Other people wish for holiday then” The matron has fixed Elizabeth with a steely eye.

“I have been doing double shifts this last month.” Elizabeth replied.

“There is a war on you know?” The matron huffed.

“Yes I know that is why I want this time.” Elizabeth sharply replied. The matron reluctantly agreed and Elizabeth watched the clock for the rest of the day wishing for the evening.

She jumped when the phone rang as she was making herself a cup of warm milk and eying the sluggish fire through the door from the kitchen. She must get that chimney swept, she thought, then ran to the phone picking it up, forgetting the milk as it bubbled up the pan and swamped the gas flame. She swore and garbled at her mother about the milk, ran back took the pan off, switched off the gas and returned to the phone.

“Ready now…” Gwyneth giggled.

“Yes…” Elizabeth panted.

“I rang Mary, you and your friend are most welcome and she said she would make the time as special as possible for you both. Said you are to ring when your train gets in. Alan will pick you up.”

Elizabeth rambled her thanks to her mother and put the phone down, forgetting all about the milk as she thought of the time she would have with Bobby.

>>>>>>>>>>>

Elizabeth spent most of the 22nd sitting on her case in the corridor of one train after another as she struggled north. The evening found her in an air raid shelter in Leeds. She had missed her connection and the sirens had gone. She kept hoping there would be a train station when she emerged.

At 6 am on the morning of the 23rd she gulped down a lukewarm cup of tea and struggled onto the train bound for Carlisle, stopping at various places large and small, including Ilkley, Skipton and a small dot on the map, Bolton Abbey.

The train chugged into the beginnings of the Yorkshire dales, not that Elizabeth could see much, the landscape was coated with fog. She sighed, she wanted the weather to be clear, cold crisp and clear, she wanted Robert to see this part of the world.

Between fighting the urge to sleep and her thoughts of the few precious hours she was going to spend hopefully with Bobby, Elizabeth nearly missed her stop. She pushed her way through her fellow passengers mumbling, “Sorry, excuse me, opps, pardon, thank you….” and dropped onto the small station, looking for a telephone box. Soon she was speaking to Mary, who told her to walk down the road to the small post office and wait there in the warm. Elizabeth picked up her case, tried not to yawn and walked the couple or so hundred yards to the small shop sitting hard against the wall, that surrounded the ruins of the once great Priory.

As she entered, the owner gave her a strange look. “I am waiting for Mr Stanley.” Elizabeth blurted. The owner gave a small smile and went back to checking their books. Elizabeth fiddled with her handbag and kept looking out of the window, but she heard her lift before she saw it, a sharp clip clop of hooves on a tarmac road. Elizabeth rubbed at the steamed up window and smiled. Round the corner came a small pony cart, the jet black creature between the shafts stepping high.

Elizabeth rushed out of the door and shouted to the man she had not seen in nearly ten years. Alan Stanley pulled up the cart smartly and neatly against the pavement and pushed back his flat cap, eyeing up the young woman waving at him.

“Here lass, tis good to see ya, but you is too thin.” With these words, Alan got down and hugged her. Elizabeth found herself smothered in the embrace of the large man. He smelled of hay, open air and a slight hint of sheep. Laughing Elizabeth allowed herself to be helped up onto the cart while Alan put her case in the back.

Soon, they were climbing away from the small village, travelling the mile or so to the farm perched on the side of the Wharfe valley. Elizabeth glanced back at the rolling parkland surrounding the priory ruins, part of the Yorkshire estate of the Duke of Devonshire. They past a tumbled down barn, stuffed with this year's hay, trundled over a cattle grid and ploughed though a number of sheep that had rambled down off the moorland before they clattered into the yard before the large rambling stone farm house.

Mary made Elizabeth most welcome and showed her to the bedroom on the first floor. The bed was wide and soft and before Elizabeth knew she was curled up on it fast asleep.

>>>>>>

Elizabeth woke to the fading light of the day; a blanket had been tucked round her, her shoes removed and her case carefully unpacked. She yawned and stretched and searched for her shoes.

“Tea lass?” Mary called from the landing.

“Yes, and I am sorry for…” Elizabeth said through a yawn.

“Not to worry it must have been a hell of a trip eh?” Mary said as she peered through the door. “Want a bath too before a bite to eat?” This was more a statement than a question and Mary’s face disappeared from the door.

“Oh please.” Elizabeth called after the vanishing footsteps then sighed, rolling her shoulders, she had been travelling for nearly two days.

“You will be going into York on the milk train” Mary stated as she reappeared with a cup of tea. Elizabeth nodded. “Expect you both back about 2 then?” Elizabeth again nodded.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Elizabeth stomach was in knots by the time she reached York. It was flipping like a spinning top as she looked in the window of a jewellers in the “Shambles” and saw something, a pair of something. Cuff links, silver, with a small moon engraved on them. “Perfect,” she whispered and went in adding the small package to the others she had bought.

The weather had changed overnight, it was now cold and getting colder, Elizabeth’s nose was red and her hair was being pulled from under her hat by the wind. “11.30am,” she whispered to her self and felt the knots and flipping in her stomach turn to a need that made her almost moan out loud. She was so close to seeing the man she loved. She dashed down the street, her eyes glued to the shape of the Minister at the end of the road. She turned a corner and, it was him. She knew it was him. The figure standing, coat collar turned up against the wind, bag at his feet, a cigarette being rolled between his fingers.

“Bobby!” She shouted and ran, jumping into his arms, feeling them tighten round her, his mouth find hers, their bodies locked together, shocking the passers by. She was melting with the fire of the need for him; her body was aching for his touch. God, she thought, giggling inside with a desire and love unsatisfied for the last seven weeks. I don’t think I can wait till we are back at the farm

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

One moment there Robert was standing in the cold staring vacantly at the imposing facade of the cathedral, and the next he was hearing the call of her voice—Elizabeth’s voice—and had turned to see her running toward him and into his arms. The weeks of absence melted away from the heat and pleasure of their kiss. There was a desperate clinging urge to simply hold onto her as long as he could without letting go.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Robert sighed as their kiss parted and he felt Elizabeth bury her face into his chest. “I have missed you so much!”

“I love you, Bobby!” she said turning a tearful face upward. He kissed away her tears and hugged her strongly again.

“Aye, mate!” muttered a gentleman passing by with a colleague. “There’s a nice warm ‘otel just round the block you know.”

“Thank you sir,” Robert replied. “And Merry Christmas to you!”

The man looked back for a moment with a frown, appraising the couple that was still locked in a tight embrace. Then he laughed, “And a Merry Christmas to you too!” The gentleman said something to his friend and they both laughed as they continued along their way.

“So have you found us a room?” Robert asked Elizabeth as he took up his bag. “Or should we take up the gentleman’s advice?”

“Actually, I have found us a very special room,” Elizabeth beamed. “It’s on an estate that I used to visit as a child. It’s not far.” Robert knew that she could hear him groan at the mention of another train ride. His back and neck still ached from the discomfort of having slept in a chair for a few hours. “It’s not that far, Bobby. I promise. And if we hurry, we can catch the 12.05 and it will be over before you know.”

Robert squeezed her hand and followed her lead back to the train station. They made it just as the conductor was calling passengers for the last time and flipping up the step-up. Elizabeth and Robert had barely managed their way inside the train car when the locomotive huffed and chuffed and lurched forward. Elizabeth was tossed backward with a start right into Robert’s waiting arm.

“Pardon me, sir,” she giggled as his hand reached around her and cupped her breast more from accident than intent.

“My pleasure,” he replied, letting his hand remain for the moment on her firm round flesh feeling the faint point of her nipple through her clothes.

“So I can see,” she said glancing down at his hand then looking up at his face.

She looked so radiant, her nose and cheeks reddened from the rush to catch the train, and her emerald green eyes sparkling brightly. Robert reluctantly let go of her and they proceeded along the aisle of the coach looking for a place to sit. They had moved up into the next car before they found a compartment with an empty place to sit. A woman and her two children rode on one side while a portly man filled much of the seat on the other. Noting how little room was left for the two of them, Robert sat and pulled Elizabeth down onto his lap.

“This is more like it,” Robert remarked as she rested against his chest. He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“I have missed you so much,” he whispered softly.

The woman across from them was dozing peacefully but her children, a boy of nine or ten and a girl of half that sat wide-eyed staring at the RAF pilot in uniform and the pretty little woman seated on his lap.

“I know you,” called out the boy proudly. “I saw your picture in the newspaper!”

“I really don’t think so,” Robert said with a smile.

“Yes I did,” the boy persisted. “Didn’t I, Missy?” he said to his little sister. She nodded quickly.

“I’m sorry but you must have me confused with someone else,” Robert smiled.

“Oh, no sir,” the boy went on. “And you’re a Yank too, so it’s got to be you.”

“Pardon me?” Robert replied.

“It was a big article about you Yanks coming over here to help out during the Battle Of Britain,” the boy said. “And there was a picture of you.”

“Well, I guess you didn’t know that you were traveling with a celebrity,” Robert shrugged as he squeezed Elizabeth closer to him. He closed his eyes for a moment as he felt Elizabeth snuggle against him. It felt so good to be with her and feel her beside him. From time to time as they would bump along in the coach, Elizabeth would raise her head up and look at him. She might stroke his cheek or kiss his lips then rest her head back down on his chest. Their restful passage didn’t last long for Robert could see the questions bubbling up inside the young boy.

“Do you fly Spits or Hurricanes?” the youngster finally ventured, unable to contain his curiosity.

“Hurricanes,” Robert replied hesitantly. He looked around and thought that there would be little harm talking to a nine-year-old.

“But aren’t they old and slow?” the boy asked.

“Tell that to the Germans I’ve shot down,” Robert laughed.

“How many?” the boy asked, his eyes wide.

“I have seventeen kills,” Robert said matter of factly.

“Wow!” the boy exclaimed. “That’s almost an ace!” His mother began to stir and her eyes fluttered open. “Someday I’m going to be a pilot!” he boasted.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” she muttered sleepily. “Now leave the man alone, Will. He’s probably trying to get away from the war for Christmas.”

“Oh, Mother,” the boy said exasperated at his mother’s tone of voice.

They trundled along in relative silence, with just the clack of the wheels and an occasional blast of the whistle near a crossing. The portly businessman beside them rustled his newspaper from time to time as he turned the pages. Robert could feel Elizabeth’s hand moving on his chest, slipping inside the lapel of his jacket, idly tracing the contours of his body. For several minutes he leaned back luxuriating in the warmth of her touch, so happy to be with Elizabeth again. Out of the view of the other passengers, Robert worked his hand inside her coat. He chuckled when she grabbed onto his forearm and looked around the compartment.

“Bobby!” she whispered sharply.

“Don’t worry … no one can see,” he whispered faintly in her ear. When she turned on his lap to face him more directly, rubbing her bum on his lap, he felt his manhood push up in the split of her legs. He guided his hand inside her jacket, feeling the sleek silk of her blouse and the soft warm curves that lie underneath.

“Bobby,” she whispered when his fingers began to pry open a button of her blouse. “Robert,” she sighed when the second button popped free. “Bobby!” she whispered sharply when his fingertips brushed against the soft warm skin of her breast. He felt her body shiver when he touched the tip of her breast, feeling the nipple grow taut and stiff. She brought her lips next to his ear. “Bobby, you are a bad man … on a crowded train … full of strangers … and children!” Her whisper had grown hoarse.

“All right then,” he said, withdrawing his hand from inside her clothes. She captured his hand and kissed the fingers, sucking the tip of his middle finger between her lips. “Hey, now who’s being the bad one now? There’re children watching.” He laughed when she looked over to see the little boy and girl looking at them wide-eyed.

“Just wait until I get you home,” she whispered into his ear.

“Oh, yeah? And just what are you going to do?” he said softly into her ear.

“I’m going to rip your clothes off.”

“And then what?”

“I’m going to kiss you all over.”

The businessman folded up his newspaper and cleared his throat; he looked out the window and his head fell back against the rest.

“All over?” he teased.

“Yesssss … aaalll oooverrrrr!” she sighed.

“And then what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going make wild passionate love to you.”

“Oh really?” Robert remarked. He could feel the desire that had been building up inside him for the past weeks ready to explode. He held her tightly and thought, How long is it going to take this damned train to get there? No sooner had the thought crossed his mind then the train began to slow and brake to a stop. He knew not where they were headed, but he didn’t care for he was with his precious Elizabeth.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

40 minutes had never seemed so long to Elizabeth before, 40 minutes, sitting on Bobby’s lap, exchanging whispered words and light kisses and fumbled touches. 40 minutes of pure torture. Elizabeth was visibly shaking from the suppressed desire and need for the man on who's lap she sat.

Elizabeth let out a long sigh of thanks as the train slowed and stopped at the small station. She got up from Bobby’s lap, her body registering the parting from his with reluctance and her heart a fear that, this few hours would be all she would have of him in her life.

She pushed both away and grabbed the moment. “Come on we are here.” barely containing her growing excitement as she grabbed her parcels and pulled at Robert’s hand.

“Where, there is nothing here?” Robert said as he looked out at just a platform in the middle of nowhere.

“Yes there is silly,” Elizabeth laughed as she jumped over the small gap and pointed to the very little Railway station, with its empty flower troughs lining the redbrick wall.

“Nothing, “Bobby laughed and allowed himself to be pulled out onto the road listening to Elizabeth explain.

“This is Bolton Abbey,” She pointed towards the large wall that ran round the corner as they walked in the opposite direction towards a lane leading up the side of the valley.

“Abbey?” Robert frowned.

“Down there by the River Wharfe, part of the Duke of Devonshire’s estate here in Yorkshire, was knocked about by Henry VIII, the one with all the wives.”

“Wives? One at a time or all at once?” Bobby quipped as he pulled them both to a stop, dropped his bag and wrapped his arms round Elizabeth.

“Funnnnnyyyy” Elizabeth answered then kissed him, slowly at first. Then faster, pushing her tongue between his lips, finding her legs begin to melt as her body pushed of its own accord against his. She felt Bobby’s own body respond to hers, his manhood pushing against her and started shaking anew. “God,” He whispered into her hair, “how far is this place?”

Elizabeth broke from his arms, forcing herself too, and ran, calling back, laughing, “A mile.”

“Hell,” Bobby swore as he picked up his bag and followed, “A taxi! A push bike! Anything!!!”

“Alan won’t be expecting me to ring till after two and we are early, he could be anywhere on the farm, we can walk it in 15 minutes! Besides you said you needed to get some exercise” Elizabeth teased, grinning, her eyes beaming with joy as she now walked at a brisk pace.

“I won’t survive!” Robert answered as he caught up with her and linked his arm in her’s his blue eyes sparking deeply into hers.

“Yes you will, as far as the barn” Elizabeth said softly and kissed her finger and placed it on his lips, before breaking out of his hold again and running forward listening to her heart thud with each step.

“Did you say barn!” Bobby exclaimed then burst out laughing.

Elizabeth nodded and carried on, her head down now against the sharp winter wind. Soon they were breasting the side of the valley; Elizabeth turned and looked out, pointing toward the river below. Robert shaded his eyes and looked from the woman he loved to the valley below. He was curious, Elizabeth could tell. She wanted to tell him of this place, a place she loved as much as her home in Norfolk but for very different reasons.

“See the Abbey lying close to the river, part of it is the village church now. We can go to midnight service if you wish with Mr and Mrs Stanley, it is wonderful.” Elizabeth’s eyes shone and she blinked as a long snowflake fluttered onto her lashes. “Then the parkland and the moors beyond and that way,” she pointed east. "Is the Strid, it’s a deep narrow thundering channel the river is forced into, only about six feet across.”

“Jumpable,” Robert commented his face lighting up like a school boys.

“Oh no…” Elizabeth whispered and reached out to him her fingers twisting in the fabric of his coat a sudden fear gripping her. “No one has been known to survive a fall into the river there, the river sucks its victims into underwater caves and tunnels.”

“Dangerous then like you Mrs Fitz.” Bobby said as he nibbled her ear.

“Oh you….” Elizabeth huffed and glanced up the road through the softly falling snow. “I spy a barn.”

“Well, well Lizzy so there is.” Robert grabbed her arm and they ran up to and into the stone building sending two sheltering sheep bleating in protest out into the snow.

They both fell into the mound of hay and lay there panting. Robert turned on his side and pushed Elizabeth’s hair from her face and just looked at her. Elizabeth began to tremble it was now, the moment she had wanted, waited for, longed for since he has left her.

Robert's finger touched her lips and he said. “I seem to remember you saying something on the train about ripping my clothes off and kissing me all over?”

Elizabeth laughed and curled her hand round his neck drawing him close then she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pushing her silk clad flesh against the growing mound in his trousers.

Bobby groaned, the stream of his breath wafted round Elizabeth’s face as she bent and began to kiss him behind his right ear, saying. “Here…” she trailed her tongue down the line of his jaw. “and here.” She stopped for a second to kiss his lips lightly, before making her way to his other ear, then down his neck as her fingers worked as his coat, jacket and shirt, as she peeled the layers off her lover, exposing his chest to the chill air, Elizabeth kissed each part she could reach.

Elizabeth’s lips kissed and her teeth gently nipped Robert’s nipples as his hands found there way under the silk of her blouse onto the fabric of her slip. The chill of his fingers added to the thrill of his touch as the pink tips hardened under his caress, straining against the fabric. Elizabeth pushed herself against his hands, savouring the way he cupped her breasts and explored them, pushing up her blouse, inching her slip straps down and bringing both treasures he had found out into the winter air.

She leant forward, offering both to his lips. The shock of his warm mouth closing over her winter chilled nipples made Elizabeth squeal with raw pleasure. She pushed both breasts together, allowing Bobby to lick and tease both as his fingers found their way up her skirt and into the leg of her kickers seeking the soft dampness he knew was there.

Elizabeth was panting; her breath coming harsh into her lungs making them ache. She twitched and sort to shift herself, dropping her hands down, trying to fumble at Bobby’s belt.

Robert, let go of her left nipple and gently pushed her sideways, and it what seemed like a split second his belt was undone and his trousers slipped down and her silk french knickers were flung in the direction of Robert’s kit bag. Elizabeth now on her side, like Bobby, snuggled close fingers and tongue exploring down, re-learning the shape and taste of him. Then Elizabeth slipped her leg under Robert’s side, pushing the limb down into the hay as it circled him like its companion.

Now, Mrs Fitz, what is this…” Bobby whispered in passion into her neck as she inched herself forward, guiding his stiff manhood into her soft, slick lower lips, feeling his head tease then roll over her hard nubbin and break into her ready, hot, tunnel.

“Yes,” Elizabeth cried as Bobby pushed deep into her. Elizabeth was unaware of the snow billowing in; unaware of nothing save the man she adored was entering her.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Growling with desire, Robert thrust his hips up fully against Elizabeth, feeling every inch of his throbbing manhood move inside her warm wet sex. With both hands he grasped her hips and held her tightly against him, seeing her eyelids grow heavy and and flicker closed as her mouth opened and she let out a deep gasp.

“Oh, Bobby!” she called out hoarsely and grabbed at his shoulders cleaving tightly to him as he began to move his body against hers. “Oh, yes! Bobby!”

The force of his body rolled them over onto her back as Robert drove himself deep inside her velvety depths with long slow languid strokes. Each thrust sent a shiver of great pleasure coursing through him, making him growl and grunt every time he entered her. Elizabeth’s body responded desperately. Her arms were twined around his shoulders and her legs circled his hips, opening her sex to him and keeping him inside her. After having been away from her for nearly two months, it now felt as if he had never left, and the sadness and heartbreak of those days and nights apart seemed to melt in the heat of their tryst in the hay.

After several particularly strong thrusts, Robert rolled over onto his back and felt Elizabeth push herself up to sit on him, their interlocked sexes never parting. As she rocked up and down atop him, he reached up to finish unbuttoning her blouse and then cup her breasts as they bounced free of her slip. His fingers grazed over the taut nipples and circled the puckered aureoles. When he took them both between his thumbs and forefingers, twisting and pulling and rolling them, she gasped loudly and fell down against him, pressing her tender firm flesh into his hands, her little hat nearly tumbling from her hair.

Their voices were communicating in little more than a series of sighs and moans and grunts. Elizabeth kissed his lips with a wild hunger as she ground her hips against his body; Robert rocked his hips up to meet her every push, grasping the cheeks of her bum and thrusting deeply up inside her.

“Yes, Bobby! Oh, god, yes!” Elizabeth exclaimed as he pumped his thick hard cock inside her. Her nails bit into the flesh of his shoulders and she buried her face into his neck. “Yes!” she cried out. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Robert felt her body tremble and shake as she collapsed down upon him, her quick shallow breaths washing over his bare chest. In a few moments as she caught her wind, she moved and must have felt his rigid manhood still inside her. “Oh, my dear god!” she laughed huskily, wiggling her hips a little to work him in and out of her sex. “You still are not done with me I can see.”

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long, Lizzy, I don’t want it to end,” Robert replied.

“So do you want me to, um …” Elizabeth said as her lips began to follow a trail down from his neck to his chest.

“Actually,” Robert said slowly lifting her face back up to his. “I have something else in mind.”

Elizabeth looked at him quizzically as he withdrew from her wet sex and maneuvered her onto her hands and knees on the hay beside him. “What?” she said, as he kicked his trousers free in the chill air of the barn and knelt behind her, pushing her skirt and slip up over the firm round cheeks of her bum.

“Let’s try this,” he ventured as he rubbed the slick thick head of his manhood on her wet slit from behind. With only the slightest push he entered her fully and deeply.

“Oh my god!” she gasped. “So deep … I feel you so deep inside me.”

He took hold of her hips and began to rock against her, his belly smacking smartly against the cheeks of her bum. Elizabeth rocked back and forth in time with him, her voice calling out her enjoyment with sighs and moans of pleasure. Soon Robert was pumping into her snug wet sex ferociously, the force of his thrusts forcing her down into the hay. He lost all track of time, for there seemed only the sumptuous bliss of being so intimate with his love. And when he felt his climax begin, he surrendered to it, feeling the release build and then course its way through his body until he fell hard onto her in the hay, clutching at her shoulders while his seed erupted deeply inside.

“Oh, Bobby!” she cried out. “I feel it!”

Breathlessly, he slipped himself free and she turned onto her side to face him as he lie beside her. They held tightly to each other, mewing and cooing to each other little words of love and passion, sharing little kisses and touches. When her hand brushed against his sticky male pride, Elizabeth giggled and shifted herself down and began to kiss and lick him clean, taking his semi flaccid cock into her mouth. When finished, she wiggled back up beside him and Robert kissed her warmly.

“One good turn deserves another,” he said, and then ducked down between her legs and under her skirt.

“Really, Robert!” she cried out when he began to lap at her sodden sex, sucking up the dampness. And when her lovely muff was moistened only by the wetness of his kisses, he snaked back up beside her and held her close. He could feel the intensity of their encounter reverberating back and forth between them. They shared a long deep kiss, rolling the mixture of their individual taste back and forth. But the warmth of their passion began to fade as the chill wind drafting through the barn pricked their bare flesh and they reluctantly began to root through the hay to find their clothes.

When they were dressed and more or less arranged, Elizabeth unpinned her hat and slipped it off to brush her hair back into place, using the touch of her dainty fingertips in place of a mirror. Robert sat on a bale of hay and watched her, fascinated by the way her fingers found their way through her lovely hair and set every errant lock into place. When she picked up her hat and tired to set it on her head, Robert jumped up and went over to help her set it at the most fashionable angle on her pert little head. His reward was a long deep wet kiss that sent tingles straight down to his toes.

The light snow was blowing around as they peered out from the barn. They looked across the fields and then back to each other.

“Not looking like it’s going to get any better if we wait,” Robert remarked, taking her gloved hand in his. “So how far away are we?”

“Not very,” Elizabeth replied.

With their bags in hand and their coats pulled tight around them, they made their way through the light but chill wind. Their pace quickened as the breeze chilled them. Robert extended his arm around Elizabeth, pulling her close to him as they passed over the grounds. She narrated their jaunt as they went, telling him about the history of the place and hers with it as the buildings came into view. Soon enough they were hustling up the long drive toward a large castle-like structure. Elizabeth squeezed up beside him with excitement and flashed a warm smile. Robert didn’t feel the chill of the wind when she beamed her smile at him.

“Here we are,” Elizabeth said as they quickly approached the front door. “I hope you like it.”

“I love it,” Robert remarked. “I love you … I love this place!”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

As she walked wrapped in Bobby’s arms through the dwindling snow flurries, Elizabeth was acutely aware of the dampness lingering on the soft hair of her sex. She ran her tongue round her lips and she could still taste the mingled flavour of Bobby and herself. She gave a small groan and shudder.

All the dreams of being again in Bobby’s arms had paled before the real thing, before the intensity of the passion they had shared. Bobby tightened his hold on her as he sensed her shudder and gave a small frown, wondering if anything was wrong

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly at him and began to tell him a little of the history of this place, about the Abbey in the valley below, how it been torn down because a King had desired another as his wife. How England had changed within a few years, the seeds sown of the England now thumbing its nose to Hitler like it had its past enemies back in Elizabethan England.

But even telling Bobby how the right wing of the strange farm dated back to the early middle-ages. That its rounded sides were the remains of a tower, where the citizens of a small village, long swallowed up by the moor and time, once sheltered from invading Scots, could not take her mind off the growing dampness between her legs.

So deep, filled me so deep, with so much. Elizabeth thought and her free hand pressed her stomach. For a second, as the memory of their love making flooded through her mind and body, it, too her surprise, brought her almost to a sexual climax. God, she loved this man so.

To cover her confusion and her surprise at the intensity of what she was experiencing, Elizabeth said quickly as they approached the front door to the strange rambling stone building. “Here we are, hope you like it.”

“I love it,” Robert remarked. “I love you … I love this place!” Elizabeth hugged him, trying in her embrace to convey the passion still tingling in her bones, and then opened the door. The hall was long and narrow, the ceiling low, the floor stone, worn by the tramp of generations.

Robert helped Elizabeth out of her coat and hung it along with his own on the large carved row of coat hooks. His fingers brushed at her hair, pulling out a wisp of hay and waving a finger at it saying “Shush, don’t you go telling tales.”

“Come on...” Elizabeth laughed softly and took his hand, feeling the calluses under her soft palm, remembering again, when this hand, these fingers had touched her most intimate parts.

“Coming” Bobby said with a wink, to which Elizabeth giggled and answered.

“Oh you… as she pulled him along with his bag down the passage, past various half open oak doors and through the one at the bottom into a large warm kitchen.

Standing next to the white scrubbed top table that took centre stage was Mary Stanley, blowing wisps of her graying hair out of her face as she forced her hand deep up the rear of one of a pair of large fowl, lying plucked and dressed before her.

“Is that what I think it is?” Robert asked.

“Turkey; two of them. Cooking them for tonight. War or no bloody war no one who comes to this house on Christmas Eve is going home hungry. You must be Elizabeth’s friend Robert.” Mary’s hand plopped out of the turkey’s rear and for a second it looked she was going to offer it to Robert to shake hands. But instead the hand waved this way and that as she continued. “Not got a bathroom upstairs, only a water closet on each of the two floors.”The hand went up “Was going to get them done this year, but bloody war… anyway, large one down the passage first door on the left.” The hand pointed the way Elizabeth and Robert had come. “Suppose you, young man could do with one?” The hand now pointed at Robert’s chest.

Robert grinned and nodded, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand in amusement as Mary continued. “Thow me out that uniform and I will brush the dust from the hay off it, That goes for your skirt as well Lizzy.” Elizabeth blushed to the roots of her hair. “You are not the first English lass rolling in that barn and won’t be the last if I have anything to do with it, knock the bugger down before a jerry sets foot in it…”

“Indeed…” Robert answered as he eyed the grey hair woman’s strong forearms, his amusement growing.

“Well off with you, get yourself sorted, Lizzy go slip out of that skirt, collect Robert’s uniform and come help me, got a few things to do. Oh young man, going dark quick today, there be a full lamp and a box of matches on the windowsill in the bathroom. “Mary plunged her hand into a bowel of stuffing and pushed the handful up the turkey’s rear with such force Elizabeth couldn’t help but wince.

“Lamp?” Bobby repeated as he picked up his bag. Elizabeth could see he was trying not to laugh, Mary was the “salt of the earth” and as rough on a cut as, but she had a heart of gold.

“No electricittty” Mary mis-said as she waved them out. “nor gases, up here”

Elizabeth followed Bobby to the bathroom, opening the door with a giggle.

“This is not a bathroom it’s an aircraft hanger.” Robert blurted through his laughter. The “bathroom” was large, with a stone floor, like the rest of the ground floor of the house. It had a number of pegged rugs over the cold slate. Two chairs, a large marble topped gentleman’s washstand and a white Victorian bath that was lost in the far corner; surrounded by copper pipes, which ran back to the large range in the kitchen.

“Have a good bath,” Elizabeth said as she took a towel off the bottom of the washstand and gave it to Bobby. Part of her wanted to slip out of her clothes and join him,

“Join me?” He asked softly, his blue eyes looking with love into her’s as his hand reached up and cupped her chin.

“Not this time…. Bring you a cup of tea…” Elizabeth answered and laughed.

“Evil woman, offers me tea in place of her body…” Bobby said as Elizabeth slipped out the door and upstairs to her room. She changed into a jumper and an old skirt, well aware of what Mary would have her doing. She placed some more coal on the bedroom fire and closed it down, so that it would burn slowly.

Then she went over to the window, Mary was right it was going dark fast. It had stopped snowing, but the sky threatened more. Elizabeth sighed. The war was far away, so far away…

Elizabeth made her way down stairs taking Robert’s uniform out of the steamy bathroom, laughing at Robert’s shouts of; “Stop thief! And where is my tea!!”

She went into the kitchen and found Mary slamming the large door of the range shut with her foot, dusting her hands off as she did so. “Right lass, see them boxes over there.” Mary pointed to two cardboard boxes full of paper chains. “Alan has taken a pile of holly and ivy into the round room and the step ladder, got the fire going I hope as well, can you start decorating the place?”

“Course…” Elizabeth said and placed Robert’s uniform over a chair and went and picked up the first of the boxes and trundled past the half open bathroom door, hearing the shout of “Thief and tea!” as she past. She returned to the kitchen and was handed a tin mug of tea by Mary. Elizabeth went into the bathroom moved one of the chairs close to the bath placed the tea down and tried to leave without saying a thing, nearly choking as she tried to stop laughing.

“Thief!” Robert shouted laughing so much the water was slopping out of the bath.

“Not!” Elizabeth said turning and sticking her tongue out. Bobby returned the gesture and flung the flannel at her, hitting Elizabeth square on her rounded bottom.

“Men!” She squealed batting at the damp patch on her skirt.

“Women!” Robert countered as he heaved out of the bath and picked up his tea. “Does this mean I will have to wear my spare pair trousers?”

“You have some don’t you?” Elizabeth asked from the door suddenly concerned.

Robert nodded in mock seriousness and Elizabeth shook her head. The jesting, it warmed her as much as Robert’s touch, the banter, the being together, the fooling around. Oh God, let this last forever Elizabeth thought as she made her way into to the round room.

The round room was the large room at the base of the tower round which the farm had been built. It was empty save for a large table pushed against one wall. The black out curtains were thick blankets nailed to the windows, now pushed back. Elizabeth found a cup of tea waiting there for her. She slurped it and began to arrange the holly and ivy over the fire place and on the windowsills.

Elizabeth was up the step ladder pinning a length of the paper chains in place, when she felt a warm, slightly damp hand trace up her right leg under her skirt. She closed her eyes and whispered “Bobby…”

“Yes, Mrs Fitz….” He answered as he leant his head against her thigh. Elizabeth’s hand dropped and ran through his damp black hair. Don’t take this away from me, please…. Elizabeth wasn’t sure if the thought was a prayer or a plea.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

First pressing his cheek against the soft warmth of Elizabeth’s thigh, Robert turned his face toward her and kissed her through the fabric of her skirt while his hand wandered up along the tender inside of her thigh. As her fingers wove into his hair, he felt Elizabeth lean against him, teetering slightly on the stepladder.

He dared not send his hand farther afraid that the gesture might spark their desire again and they would combust right there in the large room. Instead, his hand squeezed her thigh and he buried his face into the folds of her skirt. But when he heard the sound of footsteps outside the room, he quickly withdrew his hand and pretended to be handing Elizabeth the colorful paper chain up the stepladder.

“Don’t you bother ‘bout me,” called out Mary loudly with an earthy chuckle. “But ya can help me with this table.”

“Of course,” Robert said, smiling up at Elizabeth who pursed her lips and blew him a kiss and continued pinning the decorations. He helped Mary move the table to where she wanted it. Between the two women, Mary and Elizabeth, Robert was kept busy, moving between the kitchen and the round room, stirring a pot, reaching something down from a high shelf, or holding the stepladder as Elizabeth perched herself on the top rung and adding decorations around the top of the fireplace.

“Hold steady, Bobby,” Elizabeth warned as the ladder teetered.

“Right, Mrs. Fitz,” he answered, grasping the sides of the ladder firmly as she climbed up.

“And behave yourself,” she added.

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently, knowing that it was his leering appraisal of her bum through her skirt that had spurred her warning.

“I just don’t want you getting any ideas, what with all the company coming tonight,” Elizabeth said, reaching up to pin the sprigs of holly, berries and ivy to the woodwork, wiggling her bum just a bit in the process.

“I’m not sure that I can comply, Mrs. Fitz,” Robert chuckled as he looked up. “A man can only do so much to control his ideas when a pretty lady is about.”

“Now you,” Elizabeth remarked, looking over her shoulder and down at him.

“So just who all is coming tonight, do you know?” he asked as his eyes lazily traced the curves of her calves up to where they disappeared behind the hem of her skirt.

“The other guests, some of their family I think, the farm hands, and probably friends from nearby,” Elizabeth answered, moving back down the ladder and into his arms. She turned around as her feet reached the floor. “It should be fun, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Robert replied. “Just as long as my lovely Mrs. Fitz is there.”

Just as Elizabeth leaned up to kiss him, Mary called from the doorway, “Come on, I need the both of you this time.”

The next hour was spent in the kitchen making ready, during which Mr. Stanley made his appearance stomping into the kitchen from outside, shaking the snow and chill from his coat and hat. He was a barrel-chested man, tall and stout with thinning gray hair and devilish blue eyes.

“Looks though the old sow is due any time now,” he said after greeting Mary with a quick little kiss on the cheek. “She’s rounder than a keg of warm ale and looks ready to burst. Just how I want to spend the holiday, playing midwife!” He laughed loudly.

“I told ya to keep Big Albert away from her, but would you listen to me? No!” Mary remarked. “Now look what ya got yerself into.”

When Alan smacked Mary on the bum, she pointed toward the chopping block where Elizabeth and Robert were employed cutting up the ingredients for a fruit salad.

“Aye, so good t’ see you again, Lizzy,” he said warmly, coming over to give her a hug. “Sorry to hear about yer husband. So very sad is it.”

Elizabeth smiled bravely. “Thank you, Popsy,” she answered.

“Popsy?” Robert mouthed and then smiled. He could see a genuine affection that flowed between Elizabeth and these simple but charming people.

“And you are the young fella who’s taken her up, so I’s heard,” Alan said, giving Robert a thorough up and down. “Didn’t think it would take too long fer a handsome fella to notice Lizzy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Robert said politely extending his hand. “Robert Wilson, Pilot Officer, 213 Squadron.”

“Oh, and a Yank to boot,” Alan huffed as he shook Robert’s hand. “Good to see you over here where you can make yourself useful.”

“A few of us weren’t content to wait,” Robert said. “And when the call went out early in the year, I knew my chance had come to give Hitler a little kick in the pants.”

“Good fella,” Stanley said, smacking Robert on the back.

“Now get yerself cleaned up and ready,” Mrs. Stanley called out sharply. “We’ve got company coming soon.”

“Watch it young fella,” Stanley said as he tromped toward the hallway. “If you don’t take the first step on your own, there’s always a woman to push you in the direction she wants ya to go!”

Robert laughed as the old farmer made his way out of the kitchen and continued to slice the apples and pears for the salad. Elizabeth was busy mixing the sweet creamy sauce. When Mary went off to the cellar to fetch the potatoes, Robert set down his knife and put his arm around Elizabeth’s waist. He nestled his face down where her neck met her shoulders and nibbled on her through the cloth of her jumper.

“Bobby!” she giggled as he embraced her roughly. “You’re going to make me spill.”

“Mmm, and wouldn’t that be a terrible crime,” he replied, his lips finding the bare skin of her neck and kissing her.

“Bobby!” she said again.

“But Lizzy, there’s going to be company here this evening,” he said, his hands moving around and up to cup her breasts. “So I’ve got to take advantage while I can.” He could feel her nipples stiffen as his hands cupped around her breasts, and he pushed his hips up to press himself against the firm cheeks of her bum.

Elizabeth’s hands paused their stirring for a moment and he heard her moan softly. “But we’ll have all night, Bobby. And if you keep that up, I may not be able to wait till then.”

“Well, Mrs. Fitz,” Robert whispered as his lips neared her ear. “That is the idea.”

He felt her slowly succumb to the warmth of his kisses and the touch of his hands. She leaned back into his embrace. “But … we have … so much … to do yet … to get ready.”

Then Robert heard Mary’s footsteps coming back to the kitchen and he released Elizabeth, picked up his knife and continued where he had been. Elizabeth let out a barely audible moan and looked at him with her green eyes heavy-lidded. He could see the tips of her breasts protruding into the stiff material of her jumper and smiled. Then he thought about the dampness that must be growing between her legs and he felt his own sex twitch. He loved the play with Elizabeth, knowing for the hours they would have this coming Christmas Eve night, that she would be his just as he would be hers. The weary cares and horrors of the war seemed so distant, so thankfully far from their thoughts, that they could relax and fully share their love.

“Now when you’re finished over there, I’ve got something more for ya,” Mary called out cheerfully, opening up her apron and letting the potatoes tumbled out onto the table in front of Elizabeth and Robert.

“We can handle it,” Elizabeth said, shooting a quick smile toward Robert.

“O’ course ya can,” Mary said with a chuckle. “Yer in love, you are.”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

For a few moments Elizabeth was lost in the euphoria of Bobby’s touch, lingering on her breasts, she almost groaned, but bit her tongue as Mary dumped the potatoes before her and Bobby.

She cleared her throat and asked. “What do you want doing with these?” Elizabeth picked up a potato, trying not to shake and knowing Bobby was very aware of the affect he had, had on her.

“Peel’em” Bobby asked stabbing one with a small knife and lifting it up.

“Nope, wash’em and prick them, then bung them in the bottom oven of the range, bake nicely to go with that turkey. Got pickles,” Mary began ticking things off her fingers.

“Of everything,” Alan quipped as he came back in and stood warming his rear against the range, as he blew on his hands.

“Well, best way with the war on, bottle and pickle as much as we can… then we have enough and have enough for others too.” Mary said wagging a finger at her husband. “You can get out of them trousers as well…”

“Is that an offer lass?” Her husband winked at her and both Bobby and Elizabeth laughed.

“Too busy, you smell of pigs, put folks off their food.” Mary retorted as she loaded a tray to take through to the round room. “And speaking of which they will be here soon… get them spuds in the oven then go get washed up child, your young man can help Alan here sort out the drink.”

“Drink?” Elizabeth asked as she took a pile of potatoes to the oven and used a cloth to open the blackened door of the range. The warm air hit her making her blink as she placed the potatoes in.

“Beer and other things” Alan winked at Bobby.

Elizabeth dusted her hands and took the large kettle and poured hot water into the large china jug Mary was holding Bobby’s eyebrows went up.

“Warmer to wash and change in the bedroom, yon bathroom is a cold hole when you are not having a bath.” Mary answered.

“I know…” Bobby remarked laughing.

Elizabeth made her way up the now semi dark stairs to the bedroom. She put the jug down on the washstand and then drew the black out curtains. Even here she thought and sighed. Elizabeth then took of the pale white glass shade and clear chimney off the oil lamp and fumbled with a match to light it.

The wick flared and gave a faint hiss as she replaced both pieces of glass. A warm soft yellow glow illuminated the room, blending with the rosy glow of the fire, making the place feel safe and inviting.

She stripped of her clothes and began to wash, placing the water in the bowl on the washstand, and lathering the soap on a flannel to sluice down her face, neck, breasts, stomach and between her legs.

She shuddered as her fingers touched herself. Elizabeth was aroused, even now. Just being in the same house as her lover, he body craved him, she craved him. She bit her lip and began to search through her case, for her garter belt, a pair of sockings and clean knickers, her red silk dress Mary had already hung up the day before.

Elizabeth sat on the bed and slipped her garter belt on arranging it just so, then she took a socking and shook it out. Carefully she rolled up the stocking and slipped in on her foot, inching the silk up her leg clasping the suspender shut with a soft click. She stood and twisted round; glancing down to check the seam was straight down the back then sat and did the same with the other.

As she stood again and picked up her knickers, she became aware of a shadow in the doorway. It was Bobby. He was standing watching her, leaning against the doorframe a small glass in his hand.

“Oh, and how long have you been there Pilot Officer Robert Wilson?” Elizabeth said laughing as she reached for her slip.

“Oh, long enough Mrs Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.” Bobby answered as he took a sip from his glass and entered the room.

“I see,” Elizabeth answered and pull the slip over her breasts and settled it against her slight frame.

“So do I, “ Bobby said as his free hand went up to cup her soft chin.

“Here Bobby, come and give me a hand with this small barrel will ya!” Alan’s voice bellowed up the stairs.

Elizabeth burst out laughing, shaking her head, her body trembling with the regret at not being touched.

“Till later Mrs Elizabeth Fitzmorgan,” Bobby said and saluted her with his glass.

“Till later Pilot Officer Robert Wilson.” Elizabeth replied tilting her head.

It was a while later, for the evening became full of meeting people and eating more than both of them had done in a long time. Their hands met now and then as they past plates. Knees touched and once the feel of Bobby’s hand on the middle of her back as he came and stood next to her, nearly made Elizabeth’s knees give in.

The round room was full of family and friends of the Stanley’s of all ages. Children dodged round the feet of grownups. A couple of young men on leave from army vied for the attention of local lasses, trying to get them out from under the eyes of their mothers.

Alan banged on the table and all fell silent. “Food we have had, company we have got, how about some music!” This was the signal for a three gents and one lady to fumble with black cases of various sizes. Fiddles and a cello where put to bows and the place erupted with cheering. Elizabeth found herself swept into the middle of the dance.

Elizabeth’s face was flushed, the hair whipping round her face and her eyes bright, shining, each time they fell on the man she loved. The weaving of the dance took her round to his side and Bobby spun them both into the hall and towards the dark stairs.

“Time I think Mrs Fitz,” Robert said as they felt there way up the dark stairwell.

“Indeed sir,” Elizabeth giggled and felt Bobby’s arms tighten round her as he pushed her against the wall at the turn of the stairs. Her lips clamped to his and her fingers began to pull at his shirt. Robert’s hand pushed up her dress, his fingers slipping under the edge of her panties. Elizabeth moaned and pushed herself close, her nipples aching so much she was in pain.

“Here what you two doing?” A voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs and a lamp flickered against the wall. Elizabeth and Bobby sprang apart, Bobby pushing Elizabeth behind him.

Elizabeth felt herself shrink in embarrassment.

“Nothing sir,” A voice answered from lower down the stairs as one of the young soldiers came into the lamp light, his hand in the hand of one of the young women.

Bobby tried to staffle a laugh as the young couple were escorted back to the main room.

“The bedroom I think Pilot Robert Wilson.” Elizabeth said in Bobby’s ear.

“Indeed, Mrs Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.” Bobby answered and took her hand, leading her the rest of the way to their room.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

With her hand in his, Robert led Elizabeth quickly and quietly the rest of the way to their room, barely able to control his desire. As Elizabeth pulled at his hand, he looked back and smiled to see that the desire was shared.

The evening had been marvelous. It was the first Christmas Robert had ever been away from his family, even through his university days, and there had been moments on the train coming down when pangs of loneliness would strike. A month earlier during the weekend of Thanksgiving in America, Robert had pulled down 18-hour days training some new pilots as they prepared for their new assignment in the north protecting the Scapa Flow. He had thought of his family largely because the flow of letters and packages from back home had been slowed by the move of his squadron. But now on Christmas Eve being in this loud happy place filled with friendly celebrating people, and most of all being with Elizabeth, had helped him forget about the war and how much he missed his family.

The food had been good, the drink better, and the entertainment and dancing a true delight. After a round or two, he had found himself light of foot as Elizabeth and the others showed him some of the local dances. There had been moments when they were separated and he would spot her clear across the room, but when she turned her eyes toward him, he could see the glint of recognition and the spark of love in them and in a few moments they would be back close to each other’s arms.

They had been flirting with each other all night, from their time spent helping out in the kitchen, to his watching Elizabeth as she dressed, through the little touches and looks throughout the evening. And know the heat surrounding them as they scampered to their room was palpable. As they neared the door, Robert reeled her into his arms and pressed her back against the wall, his lips finding hers wet and open and wanting, his palms finding the sharp points of her breasts, and his stiffening manhood finding her belly soft and warm and welcoming.

“Oh, Officer Wilson,” Elizabeth sighed deeply as he kissed her neck near her ear. She raised her leg and crooked it around him, drawing him tighter against her yielding body. “I need you so badly!”

“Just as I do you,” Robert replied as his hand fumbled for the door latch. With a final wet sloppy kiss he pushed open the door and pulled her inside.

The room echoed with the sound of the music still playing downstairs and the clatter of glasses and the laughter of the happy throng. But as the door closed behind them and they danced their way across the room tied up in each other’s arms, Elizabeth and Robert could little of the joyous party elsewhere. The sight and scent and sound of each other were all that mattered to them now.

As they neared the bed, Elizabeth managed to break free long enough to light the lamps on each side of the bed despite Robert’s attempts to distract her with his touch and his kisses. He then scooped her up by the ass and she raised her legs and wrapped them around his hips. She giggled giddily and held tightly to his shoulders as he spun them around dizzily. They tumbled onto the bed with a laugh and the weight of Robert’s body pressed Elizabeth down deep into the soft plump mattress.

Elizabeth cradled his face in her hands as Robert kissed her lips, her cheeks, her chin, and her neck. His heated breath washed over her face as his passion exploded anew. His fingers fumbled with the buttons that ran down the front of her dress, finally prying enough free that he could part the red fabric and trail his kisses down from her neck to her chest and lower. Pulling the straps of her slip down from her shoulders, Robert tasted the soft firm upper curves of her breasts. Pushing the silk and lace away, his mouth eagerly found a taut nipple and licked and suckled it. She moaned and arched her back as he found the other one and grazed the stiff erect nub with his teeth.

As she pushed his head lower, Robert hastily pulled at the hem of her dress and her slip, lifting them up over her knees, up to her hips. Rising up on his knees between her legs, he bent down and kisses the warm silk of her panties, drawing in the scent of her moistened sex.

“Oh, Mrs. Fitzmorgan,” he said, rising up to look at her. She lay back on the bed, one hand lying lazily above her head, the other hand at her breast, fingers teasing an erect nipple. Her green eyes were heavy lidded and filled with desire. Her lips were parted as she drew in short shallow breaths. “This is a lovely pair of knickers you have on tonight.”

Elizabeth said nothing, but just let a sweet grin curl her lips as she looked up at him.

“They are so lovely, but so unnecessary,” Robert said. As if on cue, Elizabeth lifted her hips slightly to let Robert pull the pretty silk garment down past her hips. She raised her legs up so that he could remove them entirely. “And oh, what a lovely sight you are,” Robert remarked as his hands held her legs up and he stroked them through her silk stockings.

He rubbed his freshly shaven cheek against her calve and began to kiss her. Elizabeth hooked her feet behind his head and tried to pull him down toward her body, but Robert persisted, holding her legs firmly and kissing his way up and down both of them. But when his lips brushed against the tender bare skin of her inner thighs and he caught the scent of her sex, Robert’s determination seemed to lessen. Without a word, Elizabeth rocked her hips upward, the glistening folds of her sex pulling a growl from deep in his throat.

Robert let go of her legs and let his hands dance along them until they came to rest on the soft rosy down that covered her mound. Stroking her gently, he purred, “Mmm, Mrs. Fitz. Soft as a new kitten you are.” Elizabeth parted her lips and her tongue darted out to circle her mouth. Robert leaned forward and brought his face very near her. “Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzmorgan, you are trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

Her eyes widened as her legs snaked around his shoulders and her heels dug into his back, bringing him closer to her moist prize. With a final glance at her half-lidded green eyes, Robert ducked his head down and brought his mouth to her, his tongue parting the down and the folds until it probed against the soft damp velvety lips of her inner labia. He kissed her and sucked her and licked gently at first but with each pass of his tongue, his passion grew greater and more intense. Soon she was trashing at the bed covers, clenching the sheets tightly and rocking her hips as he drove his tongue deeper and deeper into her.

His tongue flicked and pressed along the entire length of her slit, lapping at her wetness and circling her hard little nub. When he sucked it into his mouth tenderly, he thought she would explode off the bed. Her thighs tightened around his head nearly smothering him and her hands flailed at his head, first clutching at him, then trying to push him away. And her voice erupted in a series of little screams and shouts, punctuated by her cries of pleasure.

“Oh, god, I need you so much, Bobby!” she called out to him, as her body trembled and shook madly. “Oh, Bobby, yes!”

Robert left his mouth clamped against her until the tremors of her climax subsided. Then he felt her hands on his head, and he crawled up over her body until he could kiss her on the mouth. It was a long deep wet kiss that only seemed to enflame their passions greater. Elizabeth pulled at his clothes, his shirt and undershirt, baring his body for her touch and her kisses. She pushed at him, rolling him off of her onto his back while she rose up and knelt beside him. Elizabeth deftly opened his trousers and pulled them off him along with his shorts. She looked down at him as her hands wandered up and down along his body, touching his thighs, his belly, his chest, even his arms, everything except for the rigid shaft that lie throbbing against his belly.

As much as he loved her touch, and the passing of her fingers and palms over his flesh sent shivers of pleasure coursing through him, he longed for something more: a special kiss on a special place. As her hands eased down over his chest and abdomen and then his hips, he moved this way then that trying to bring his engorged manhood to her grasp. But Elizabeth smiled down at him.

“Is there something wrong, Officer Wilson?” she asked in a decidedly innocent voice. He shook his head and closed his eyes as she bent down momentarily. But her kiss fell upon only his stomach. “Surely a man of the world such as yourself must enjoy the tender touch of the woman who loves him.”

“I do Mrs. Fitz … I do,” he said in a voice thick with passion. “But there … there is something …”

“There is something?” she asked with a grin. “Something what?”

“Something … that needs … your attention,” he gasped as her hands stroked his thighs very near his throbbing sex.

“What ever could that be?” she asked, her hands sweeping up over his hips, her fingertips barely grazing the flesh of his stiff thick tool.

“Please, Lizzy … I need your kiss …”

“You’ve already had plenty of those tonight,” she smirked.

“No … there,” he said, his voice sounding almost desperate. “I need your kiss … there … down there.” With that Robert wiggled his hips sending his stiff prick wagging from side to side.

“Oh, my!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You do want that, don’t you?” Robert nodded eagerly. “Hmm, then I must do something about this condition,” she said as her fingers brushed against him. “A kiss you say?” she asked. Again he nodded. “I can do that,” she said and bent down to kiss near the tip. Robert groaned at the warm touch of her wet lips against his thickness. “How’s that?” she teased.

“More,” he gasped hoarsely. “More … I need more.”

“More kisses?” she said teasingly as he nodded frantically. She bent forward again and kissed his prick, this time her lips sliding up and down the length of his thick shaft. Robert groaned deeply and closed his eyes as he felt her tongue brush against his throbbing flesh. Then the warmth disappeared. His eyes shot open and he saw Elizabeth sitting beside him, her hands folded in her lap. With every moment that passed, he could feel himself grow hard enough to burst.

“Lizzy, please …” he begged. Finally she smiled and sat back. She opened the remaining buttons of her dress and lifted it off over her head. Then she did the same with her slip, raising it slowly up until it was over her head and she tossed it to the side of the bed. The sight of her naked body beside him made him tremble and his throbbing member twitch. Then her hands settled upon his shaft and she bent forward again until he could feel her breath fall upon him. “Oh, god yes, Lizzy!” he growled. “Yes!”

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

“Please,” Robert’s eyes crossed again and Elizabeth giggled, gazing sideways at his face tilted down, looking at her. The flickering lamps, made their bodies glow, with a soft yellow, the light glistening off their dampened skin.

Elizabeth ran her fingers through the tight, fuzzy mass of hair at the base of Robert’s shaft. She felt his thick length twitch and rub gently on her hand, his stomach shaking with each of his ragged breaths. Slowly she raised her finger to her lips and moistened it, running the damp digit round the base to the tip, exploring, gently rubbing. As she reached the purple cap of Bobby’s manhood, she lowered her mouth, her tongue joining her finger in its exploration.

Bobby’s hips pushed up and Elizabeth took him into her mouth, her hand circling just below the depth her mouth would allow. Bobby’s throbbing flesh filled her mouth each thrust, sent the velvety tip slipping along the roof of her mouth, brushing her teeth as she worked her tongue round the width.

She tried to keep pace with the short jutting movements of Bobby’s hips. His hands were entangled in her hair, pressing her head down.

“God’ Lizzy don’t stop” Bobby cried as Elizabeth pulled away for a second to catch a deep breath. She laughed and lowered her mouth again, her tongue swirling round as Bobby’s manhood plunged in. “Yes… now…. Oh hell……” Bobby swore as he ground his hips to her face. Elizabeth felt his shaft pull back, expand, shudder between her lips then her mouth was awash with his seed. It splashed the roof of her mouth, coated her teeth. It trickled down her throat and dribbled from her lips as Robert continued to thrust raggedly into her mouth as his climax drained away.

The pressure from Robert’s hands eased and he caressed her neck and shoulders. Elizabeth rose, gave a small cough and sat there looking at the man she loved. Robert’s finger came up and rubbed at the trickle of his seed on her lips. He gave a crooked smile. Elizabeth caught his finger with her’s and kissed them, saying softly “I do love you very very, much. Sometimes the words seem so little, but they mean so much…”

Elizabeth, felt tears prick her eyes, here so far away from the war and chaos, the thoughts of what could happen for a second crashed into her mind. She broke away from Robert’s hands and slipped from the bed, going to the wash stand pouring what was left of the now cold water into the bowl, splashing her face, then rubbing it dry with a towel.

“Liz?” Bobby said from behind her his arms gently turning her round and pressing her body to his. She clung to him and raised her head, kissing him hungrily. She felt his sticky manhood begin to stiffen again against her belly she groaned and pulled Robert’s hands to her breasts. His fingers pinched her hardening nipples and they stumbled back to the bed, both caught by a frenzy that they must be locked to one another now.

Bobby’s pushed her onto her back, his hands opening her thighs, bushing her sex as he guided his manhood into her. Elizabeth pushed herself up, impaling herself on his shaft. Her legs curled round him pulling him deeper in. She thrashed, tossed and ground her hips to his as if seeking to break herself apart. She screamed his name, begging him to fill her.

Elizabeth became lost in her orgasm as it tore through her, leaving her panting, her lungs burning as the man she loved gave her, everything and more.

They lay in each other’s arms not speaking, their breathing and the slight shuddering of their bodies as the sweet sense of completeness ebbed away, leaving them both wanting more. The sounds of goodbyes, echoed up the stairs and the strains of the fiddles died.

“It’s late…” Elizabeth said..

“You don say..” Robert chuckled and took a lock of her hair and twisted in his fingers.” Merry Christmas Mrs Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.”

“The same to you Pilot Officer Robert Wilson” Elizabeth responded and tickled his ribs.

“Help I am under attack” Robert laughed and did the same. They rolled across the bed giggling, when a knock sounded on the door.

“We is off to midnight service, you coming?” It was Mary.

“Well?” Elizabeth asked her lover.

“Only if you promise to warm me up after.” Bobby said still trying to sneak his fingers through Elizabeth’s and tickle her.

“Give us five minutes” Elizabeth called and slipped from the bed.

>>>>>

It was nearer 15 minutes by the time Elizabeth and Robert were bundled against the cold and sitting in back of the pony cart, driving through the layer of crisp snow towards the village and the church which was once part of a great abbey. The night was cold, the moon coated with wisps of cloud.

“It’s beautiful..”. Elizabeth whispered.

“Yes you are, “Bobby whispered in return.

The service in the church was short, happy and magical. The red-cheeked vicar stood at the door wishing all a Merry Christmas and ordering the almighty to smite the Nazis, as his flock left for their homes.

“Vicar has been on the port,” Alan commented as he pulled the rug from the pony.

“He is not the only one,” Mary huffed as she climbed into the cart for the jounery home.

“Don’t drink port," Alan answered as he took the reins and climbed in.

“Only bloody thing you don’t drink!” Mary countered as the set off again. Bobby and Elizabeth laughed and snuggled under the rug in the back, both watching the snow begin to fall again.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

Robert felt Elizabeth cozy up close beside him beneath the warm heavy rug that covered their legs and laps. The fresh snow was adding some a glistening sheen to the ground. Robert put his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and pulled the rug up near to their shoulders. It wasn’t long before he felt her little gloved hand slip onto his thigh and begin to run up and down its length from knee to hip and back again. He looked at her from the corner of his eye and she smiled.

“That was a lovely service,” Robert called out. “I’m glad we went.”

“It was very nice,” Elizabeth remarked, her hand insinuating itself between Robert’s thighs.

“I even recognized most of the music,” he added. “I love those old carols. Kind of made it feel at least a little bit like home.”

“Aww, my brave soldier, so far from home,” Elizabeth cooed. Her other gloved hand moved up over his uniform jacket, stroking his chest lightly underneath the cover.

“It’s okay,” he said, hugging her closer to him for a moment. “It feels like home whenever I’m with you.” Elizabeth burrowed herself closer to him and squeezed his thigh firmly.

Mary looked back over her shoulder at the passengers in the rear. She gave Alan a strong nudge in the side with her elbow.

“What I do now?” he barked.

“More what you don’t do anymore,” Mary remarked. “You should take a lesson or two from that handsome Yank in back.”

“Ahhh,” Alan called out and snapped the reins sharply. As the cart lurched forward, Mary pushed herself closer to Alan.

Robert looked about as they passed over the rolling countryside and headed back toward the Inn. The ride could have been two minutes or two hours, but time seemed to matter little for them. Each minute with her felt like paradise and he didn’t want to miss a single one. He loved the feeling of her pressing her cheek against his chest and running her hands over his body beneath the rug. Though the chill breeze nipped at his cheeks and chin, he felt so warm and loved with Elizabeth in his arms. He felt each part of his body, trying to memorize the sensation of being with her like this. He knew in the coming months that he might see little of her and wanted to make this feeling last.

“Mighty quiet back there it tis all of a sudden,” said Mary. “Best warn you that we’re the crest of the hill away now.”

“Now, dear lass, don’t go insinuating again,” Alan warned. “They be just keeping warm I’m sure.”

Elizabeth nestled her face against Robert’s chest once more and wiggled her hand playfully as it wedged up between his legs. Robert tightened his arm around her snuggly, sharing the warmth of their closeness. Alan pulled the cart up close to the house and let off the passengers who scampered quickly inside. They had shaken off the snow and cold and had gathered around a warm fireplace by the time Alan tumbled inside. Robert had lined up a set of four brandy glasses so that everyone could enjoy a little nightcap.

“To good friends and family wherever they might be,” Robert said as they held up their glasses. “And may this New Year find us all safely where we want to be without any shadows hanging over our heads.”

“Aye, cheers!” Alan agreed and they all hoisted up their brandy and drank.

“So where would that special place be for you, Mr. Wilson?” Alan asked as they seated themselves.

“A few months ago, it would have been home,” Robert said with a smile. “But now?” He looked at Elizabeth and rested his hand on her leg. “Now I would want to be wherever this little lady is.”

“Aw, now Mr. Stanley,” Mary laughed as she nudged her husband in the ribs. “I told you they teach those Yanks charm and manners, I tell you.”

When Robert’s eyes met up with Elizabeth’s, he saw her sharp green eyes moistened with tears. She sniffled for a moment; he reached for his handkerchief and held it out toward her.

“And they teach ‘em how to make the girls cry too,” Alan chuckled.

“It’s all right,” Elizabeth sniffled, dabbing at her tears and composing herself. “Because I would want to be in the same place as you, Bobby.”

“Well, don’t let us keep you from where you want to be,” Mary said warmly. “It’s getting late for an old lady such as myself anyway.”

“You’re not old, I tell you,” Alan remarked and he moved to rise up from his seat. “If anything is old around here, tis me!”

They all laughed and the four of them got up together. While Mary turned down the lamps, Elizabeth and Robert bid their goodnights and made their way up the stairs. Robert reached out to try and tickle her as followed her up to their room. Elizabeth giggled and darted ahead of him, but he caught up to her just outside the door to their room.

“Did you mean that?” she asked as he drew her into his arms.

“Every word,” he replied. “You should know that, Mrs. Fitz.” Robert lowered his lips to hers for a light sweet kiss.

“I do, Bobby, I do,” she whispered as his lips brushed against her neck.

Robert encircled her waist with one arm and pulled her tightly against him while the other fumbled for the door latch. Finding it and swinging the door open, he pulled her with him.

“Now, my lovely Mrs. Fitz,” he said as the door swung closed behind them. “Seems to me that you made a promise before we left, something about warming me up from the chill ride to church and back.”

“But didn’t the brandy take care of that?” she asked as she turned up the lamps and then sat on the side of the rumpled bed. She leaned back and tilted her head to the side.

“But the brandy does only so much to warm a man,” Robert said as he stepped up in front of her. “And a woman has so many other ways of warming a man’s body and soul.”

“Such as?” Elizabeth asked teasingly, raising up a leg towards him. He looked down at her foot and took it in hand.

“Oh, things that she can say,” Robert remarked, unfastening her shoe and slipping it from her foot. “And things that she can do.” He dropped the shoe to the floor and his hands began to massage her foot through the stocking. Then she raised her other foot and he repeated his actions.

“And I know what these things are?” she said as his hands moved up along her stocking, heading toward the clasp of her garter.

“Oh I think you definitely do, Mrs. Fitz,” Robert chuckled. “Why you are even doing it right now.”

“I am? Letting you take off my shoes warms you up?” Elizabeth said, at first licking her lips, then biting her lower lip.

Robert smiled as he looked down at her sitting on the edge of the bed, her leg extended toward him, the hem of her skirt and slip rising up past the tops of her stockings revealing the pale soft flesh of her thigh. She lifted her other leg up and brought her foot to the crotch of his trousers and began to rub her stockinged foot on the bulge that lie there.

“Oh, yes indeed,” Robert said. “I can see that you know all the tricks.”

He let her leg fall from his hands and moved to the bed. Elizabeth reached out with both arms and pulled him down onto the bed with her. As hard and eager and fast their lovemaking had gone in the afternoon and evening, this time there was no rush, no hurry, and even their kisses lingered leisurely.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Elizabeth woke, not suddenly, not with a start, but softy; the gentle waking of a mind slowly becoming aware of where they are and who with. Her eyes fluttered open and she stretched slowly. The tip of her nose and cheeks were cold. She pulled the covers higher and snuggled down into the warmth. Bobby’s hand was on her stomach; his fingers stretched open, pushed into the top of the mass of soft hair on her mons.

She smiled and placed her hand on his. Bobby sighed and shuffled in his sleep, his fingers moving, clenching slightly. Elizabeth peered at his face, wondering if he was really asleep. He was. She lay there willing her self to go back to sleep. The house was quiet, it was early. No noise rose from the yard outside. It was if the whole place was wrapped in its own blanket.

It was. During the few hours Elizabeth and Robert had slept the first snow of what would be one of the hardest and coldest winters on record, had fallen over the Yorkshire Moors. This snow would not last, within a day it would be melting. But it was a foretaste of what the British people had to face in the coming months, a country with now thousands homeless and injured in the nightly bombing.

The Blitz was set to continue each night when the weather was clear from now on, only later in the war did the raids fade out, to be replaced by a far more dangerous attack. The first by explosives delivered on the warheads of the buzz bomb V1 and then the first true Rocket the V2.

Another element of the war was fast entering its most brutal period. The Battle of the Atlantic; the time the crews of the German U boats called the “happy time” was beginning. Unable to beat the British in the air and stage his invasion, Hitler’s Nazi régime intended to starve the country of food and vital supplies.

To render England incapable of continuing the fight, while Hitler turned his eyes elsewhere on the main land of Europe, Russia.

All this was far away for Elizabeth and Bobby at this time both lay there, unaware that the coming months would change their lives again.

Elizabeth tired to go back to sleep, but found her bladder was making demands. She reluctantly pushed her foot out of the warm bedcovers and hissed as the cold of the room clasped icy hands on her toes. She shuddered and rose, quickly grabbing her robe, pushing her feet into her shoes.

She looked at the fire; it was a bed of glowing ashes. Elizabeth took a log from the basket by the side of the fire and pushed it onto the embers. With a glance back at her still sleeping lover Elizabeth slipped out and down the corridor to the small toilet on this floor of the house.

As Elizabeth made her way back to the bedroom, Mary appeared at the turn of the stair. “Cup of tea love?” The woman asked.

Elizabeth looked at the door of the bedroom, and then nodded saying “Just a minute.” She slipped in and put some coal round the now burning log in the fireplace. Then Elizabeth carefully opened her case, taking out a small bag of coffee and a parcel wrapped in coloured tissue paper. Bobby still slept, spread-eagled across the bed. Elizabeth promised herself it would not be long before she was again by his side.

It had been late when they had come to bed and the hour or more before they had fallen asleep had been one of gentle touches and soft kisses. Bobby had explored every inch of Elizabeth’s body, with fingers and mouth. She the same of him; even now walking down the stairs, Elizabeth’s body resonated to the memory of his touch. Of the feel of his manhood thrust deep within her. Of her body locked to his in love.

“Oh….” Elizabeth exclaimed and shivered as she entered the large kitchen. The range was battling to keep the place warm against the cold coming through the wide open door. Here Alan was digging his way through a snowdrift that had piled up against the building, leaving the yard almost scoured clean.

“Hurry up and put the wood in the hole” Mary muttered as she filled the kettle.

“ Merry Christmas, Mary, Alan.” Elizabeth said and pushed the present in her hands towards the woman.

“You shouldn’t have.” Mary answered as she pulled at the tissue paper. “Goodness! Chocolates! Damn lass where did these come from? Cadbury’s too.”

“Have my contacts.” Elizabeth laughed. Alan looked over his shoulder as she said this, laughed and managed to shut the door as he continued to dig towards the cowshed.

“Don’t think your young man will be going far today?” Mary said as she placed the chocolates down and turned her attention to loading a tray with cups and plates.

“Oh dear…” Elizabeth said, placing the packet of coffee on the table and opening it.

Mary sniffed and said “By heck, is that? Sod the tea, let’s have some, haven’t had any since I was in Harrowgate last year.”
Elizabeth laughed and looked out of the window at the white landscape, part of her was so glad it had snowed, while the other part worried about Robert getting into trouble being late back as his base.

Soon Elizabeth was walking back upstairs with a pot of coffee and a plate laden with thick slices of bread, butter and jam. A long toasting fork was balanced on top. She let herself in to the bedroom. Already the fire had taken the chill off the room.

Elizabeth placed the tray down on the floor then again went in her case. She pulled out the small box containing the silver cuff links with the moon engraving she had brought in York and placed them on the tray. Elizabeth hoped Bobby would like them.

She now squatted on the floor, placing a slice of bread on the toasting fork and holding it towards the fire. As she did she heard Bobby mumble something and half sit up. “Good morning sleepy head, did you smell the coffee?” she laughed turning the toast round to brown the other side. “Merry Christmas again my love. Ouch, that’s hot.” Elizabeth exclaimed as she slipped the toast off the fork and onto a plate.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

“Did you burn yourself, Mrs. Fitz?” he said slipping out from between the covers and rolling onto his belly near the foot of the bed to get a better look at the little woman crouched beside the firebox. The modest flames were quickly warming the room, but he still felt a shiver creep over him, as he lay there naked.

“No, it … it surprised me more than any thing,” Elizabeth replied. She glanced up at him with a lovely smile, one that he often saw in his dreams. He tried to drink in the sight of her like this so that he could carry it with him in the coming weeks. Though it warmed his heart, Robert felt goose bumps forming on his arms and backside.

“Suppose I should get my lazy butt up and dressed,” he said moving toward the edge of the bed and standing. He was well aware of her eyes on him as he stood and reached for his clothes. Standing with his back to her, he glanced over his shoulder at her as he stepped into his shorts. He wiggled his bum playfully. “Best keep your eyes on what you’re doing, Lizzy. Don’t want you burning those sweet little fingers of yours.”

She giggled and then set out the second slice of toast. Robert slipped on his shirt and took a deep breath of the coffee. He poured some into the cups and saw a small box sitting on the tray. “What have we here?” he asked. “Another reward of your fine bargaining powers?”

“Why don’t you open it and see,” Elizabeth answered. She kept her eyes on him as he picked the box and opened it. Robert felt a warm rush inside when the glint of polished silver caught his eye. It was a beautiful set of silver cufflinks engraved with a picture of the moon.

“They’re beautiful, Lizzy!” he exclaimed. “Thank you!” He reached inside the pocket of his jacket and sat beside her on the floor before the firebox as she toasted another slice of bread.

“Merry Christmas, Darling,” she said as he kissed her on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Fitz,” he said, taking the long fork from her hand. “Why don’t you let me finish that while you open this?” he added, handing a small wrapped box to her. Her eyes grew large as she took it and pulled at the ribbon to untie it. He had finished toasting the bread when she lifted the lid of the box.

“Oh, my god, Bobby!” she cried out. “It’s gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous!” she exclaimed, pulling up the small golden butterfly charm on a gold herringbone chain.

“It’s a butterfly,” Robert said. “I had it made in town just for you. Notice how the wings are yellow and white gold and the body is red gold?”

“It’s beautiful!” she said holding it up to her neck. “How did you? How could you? I love it! Here help me.”

Robert set down the toasted piece of bread and helped Elizabeth string the necklace around her neck. The golden charm hung just down toward the upper curves of her breasts. She looked down and patted the charm where it lay against her creamy skin.

“Merry Christmas, Lizzy,” he said to her as she leaned toward him for a kiss. Her arm snaked out around his neck and held him in place so that she could kiss him long and deeply. “But Lizzy, the toast,” Robert said as she pressed forward, putting him on his back, and climbing atop him.

“Forget the toast, Bobby,” she said, straddling his hips and bending down toward him. He loved the way the charm looked as it dangled down from her neck, and the way her breasts were emerging from the folds of her robe. Instinctively he lifted his hands to touch her soft tender flesh and felt her quiver when his fingers brushed against the rosy tips.

Elizabeth pressed herself down against his body and his touch. Their mouths found each other and their tongues danced a mad morning greeting. Elizabeth pulled at the belt of her robe to open it and Robert could feel her warm naked flesh melt onto him. Just as their kiss had grown to its wildest, wettest, and deepest, Robert stomach growled loudly. At first, Elizabeth continued her passionate kiss, but when it growled again she began to laugh. In a moment they were both embracing on the carpet in front of the hot firebox, laughing like children.

“I must learn to take better care of that monster,” Elizabeth said pushing herself up and cinching her robe together.

“Throw him a bone so he’ll go away,” Robert remarked, boosting himself up. “But then …”

“But then what?”

“But then there might be another monster that you’d have to take care of.”

They laughed again and began to butter the still warm toast and spread some jam. It was a simple breakfast that they shared, sitting closely together on the floor by the fire. The real coffee and the homemade preserves could have been a champagne breakfast served at a fine Parisian hotel for all they cared. They were together and feeding each other scraps of toast and jam and nothing else in the world could take these moments away from them.

When a tiny scrap of jam clung to the corner of Elizabeth’s mouth, Robert kissed it away. When Robert held his mouth open for Elizabeth to feed him another bite of toast, she offered it, then pulled it away. When he captured her wrist and brought the morsel to his mouth, she reached forward strongly and crammed it into his mouth. They remained on the floor after the toast and coffee were finished.

“Did you see the snow, love?” Elizabeth asked, as they lay back on the rug, she on top as before. “It’s quite deep and lovely.”

“Damn!” Robert muttered, thinking over the consequences. “I’ve got my train to catch tonight.”

“I’m not sure if you’ll be able to,” Elizabeth warned. “Is that a problem?”

“Could be a nasty one, if I’m not back in time.”

“I hope this won’t turn you into a grumbling old bear if you’re cooped up her with me,” Elizabeth said. She lay her head down on his chest and felt his fingers comb through her auburn streaked locks. Robert rolled the thought over in his mind. He had volunteered so many hours and days and weeks to the war, what would a few extra hours spent with the woman he loved really hurt?

“You know, you’re right,” he said as he hugged her tightly against his body. “We have each other, we have this place, we have this bed, we have this piece of carpet by the fire, what more could we ask for but some time to spend together?”

“Mmm, I know,” Elizabeth hummed softly.

“I love you, Lizzy,” Robert said, his voice deep and thick with emotion. “Mrs. Fitz, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Bobby,” she answered.

“I never expected to meet anyone such as you when I came over here,” Robert went on. “I feel so damned lucky! Yet, this … this could all be over tomorrow …”

Elizabeth lifted her head from his chest and looked down at his face. Her hand reached out to caress his cheek. Robert could feel his eyes filling up with tears, tears of joy at the love they had discovered, and tears of sadness at knowing their time together was so limited. She bent down to kiss his cheeks.

“Bobby, let’s not think of the bad things, all right?” she said. “Let’s take this time and spend it well.” She sat up and straddled his hips again. Pulling at the belt of her robe, she then slowly drew her hands up along the folds and spread the lapels wide apart. Seeing her bare her trim curves to him sent a throbbing jolt to his belly and below. When she cupped her breasts and bent down to offer them to him, he took them into his mouth, kissing and sucking and nibbling on them until they had grown stiff and erect.

It was an hour before they got up from the floor. Perhaps had anyone been in the room just below them, they might have heard the rhythmic creaking of the floorboards, the sound of an occasional elbow or foot thumping down as the lovers sought their passionate leverage. Or perhaps they might have heard the muffled shouts of ecstasy as the wonderful tremors of pleasure rumbled through each of them. But when the two emerged from the room, freshened up and dressed, they looked the perfect pair of innocent lovers caught up in the romantic moments of being together on Christmas morning.

“So how do I look?” Robert asked, adjusting his sleeve to show off the silver cufflinks.

“Like my dashing Pilot Officer hero!” Elizabeth laughed. She fingered the gold charm suspended from her neck. “And me?”

“Like the most beautiful girl in the world!” Robert replied.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

As they walked down the stairs, Elizabeth fingered the necklace lying in the hollow of her breasts. It was so beautiful. So perfect like the last few hours. How much longer could they hold on to this small dream? When would the reality of the war come crashing down on them? Elizabeth wished it would snow and snow, lock them both away here on the moors for days, weeks. She knew it wasn’t possible. Knew it would not happen and Alan’s words confirmed it as she and Bobby walked into the kitchen.

“Getting warmer, the snow will not last, be gone or well on its way by tomorrow.”

Bobby’s face darkened and he put back his shoulders, his hand tightening on Elizabeth’s as he spoke. “Then, you will be able to get down to the village by tonight?”

“Aye, but I doubt the trains will be running down the valley. Will ring later and find out. You will be on you way come dawn tomorrow though.” Alan huffed and peered out the window at the lightening sky.

Elizabeth looked at Bobby sniffed and asked “Want any help?” She would not let the thought of Bobby going ruin the small time they had left.

“Aye, got any boots with you?” Alan said winking.

“She didn’t mean you.” Mary huffed as she slammed the range oven door shut on the goose she had put in. “I need a bit of help, though dinner won’t be that good.”

“Goose and veg….Better than some Mary,” Her husband remarked putting his coat back on. “Talking of feeding; I best get some of that hay out of the barn for them sheep.

“Can I give you a hand” Bobby asked.

Alan looked Robert up and down and smiled. “Aye…. See if any of them boots through there fit you.” Robert went into the scullery and came back with his trousers tucked in to a large pair of boots and buttoning up his coat. Mary wrapped a scarf round his neck and plopped Alan’s second best flat cap on his head, Elizabeth burst out laughing.

Robert mouthed “Just you wait,” as he walked out of the door into the snow.

Elizabeth helped Mary over the next two hours get the dinner ready, listening to the wireless as they did. Carols, a play, news and an announcement that the King would speak at 3.00pm to the country and the Empire flowed out of the bakelite frame in the corner.

Mary decided it wasn’t worth lighting the fire elsewhere just for them to eat so she set places for the four of them on the large kitchen table sighing as she did so. “Pity no Christmas crackers...”

“Tried everywhere myself, not even my coffee supplier could get any.” Elizabeth sighed as well as she put on a pan of potatoes to boil. “No paper hats, no mottos”

“And no snap!” The two women said together, giggling.

“What’s going on here then” Alan said as he came in stamping the snow off his boots. Bobby followed pulling off his borrowed boots and blowing on his cold red hands then wriggling them at Elizabeth.

“No you don’t” She said backing away, giggling and waving her finger at him…

“Oh yes!” Bobby replied laughing as he came after her. Elizabeth dodged round the table and fled down the hall towards the stairs, her giggles filling the air.

Bobby pounded after his stocking feet slipping on the stone floor. “I want to get my hands warm Lizzy”

“You won’t be wanting a cup of tea yet then?” Alan shouted after.

“Stupid bloody man” Mary answered and swatted him with a tea towel and was soon fending off her own attacker.

Elizabeth scampered up the staircase, Bobby after her, his ice cold hand snaking out and grabbing her ankle. “Ouch; that’s cold and watch my stockings they’re my last pair.”

“Buy you another pair.” Robert countered, as her silk clad limp slipped out of his hand.

“Mr money bags!” Elizabeth teased and stuck her tongue.

“Right!” Bobby hallooed and charged after her, catching Elizabeth at the top of the stairs, pinning her to the wall.

“Foul.” She giggled as she felt his cold hand tug her skirt hem up. She squealed as his icy fingers found the bare flesh above the top of her stocking.

“Sizzle, sizzle Mrs Fitz” Robert whispered in her ear as his chill fingers worked higher to the glowing warmth between her legs. Her breath hitched and she gasped as Bobby’s fingers pushed up under the leg of her undies and plunged deep into her damp folds.

Elizabeth widened her thighs to allow him access and grabbed Bobby’s head with both her hands. She kissed his cold lips hard, drawing the cold from him, replacing the chill with the fire of her love.

The kiss was a trigger, both exploded in a frenzy of fumbling with clothes. Elizabeth found her self lifted and lowered onto Bobby’s swollen, pulsing shaft. Her legs closed round him like a vice, tightening with each thrust, seeking to drag him further in.

Elizabeth’s face was buried in his shoulder, lips pushed to the fabric of his shirt to stifle the screams of delight as she ground her hips against his. Her head and back banged against the wall, but it was of no matter.

Her climax came hard, fast, a rolling ball of heat that took hold of Bobby and dragged him with here. Elizabeth could feel her lover’s seed spurt deep, coating her womb, filling her. Robert leant against her his breath coming in gasps as he said. “Nice way to get warm..”

“Oh you…” Elizabeth ran her hand through his hair as she felt Robert’s turgid manhood slip from her. She unlocked her legs and lowered them to the ground, making to go tidy herself up. Robert took her hand and turned it over, kissing the palm. Elizabeth closed her eyes and shuddered at the love flowing from that simple gesture into her veins.

Christmas lunch was eaten with jests and laughter. The goose washed down with beer. The laughter continued as both women sat and watched their men folk tackle the washing up. Mary giving orders and tutting at both Robert and Alan, till her husband threatened to whack her across the bottom in front of company.

All four fell silent as just before 3.00pm Alan switched the wireless on to warm up. George VI addressed his nation, praising their courage, telling them that the rest of the Empire was with them in spirit. That Hitler would never succeed. That England would fight on.

As she listened Elizabeth felt Bobby’s arms tighten round her. The war had come back into their lives. They would soon be dragged apart by it. For ever? Would this be the last time they would be together? Elizabeth began to shake and a tear trickled down her cheek. A new year was fast coming and with it a future she did not know. Only one thing Elizabeth really knew was that she loved Bobby with every breath and her here. Her hand went to the butterfly lying against her pale skin.

A butterfly. A creature so delicate, like love, so easily crushed and wiped away. But not her love. Never. No matter what Elizabeth swore to herself.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

He felt Elizabeth shudder and saw the tear trail down her cheek. Was she thinking the same as he was, about the year nearly over and this new year to come? Robert leaned toward her and kissed at the salty little tear and the others that were threatening to fall. He held her close wishing that their embrace could last the rest of the day, the week, and the month. Robert felt the same sort of feeling in the embrace Elizabeth returned.

A program of seasonal music followed the King’s speech. They sat together silently, holding each other, not clinging exactly, but there was a feeling of desperation in the way their arms wound around one another. No matter how hard they tried, the war would pull them apart, but not for these precious moments that they could cling together.

Robert let his fingers trace over her once more, trying to memorize each curve that he loved so much, wanting to take as many memories of her with him to wherever he would end up. Perhaps in a month or two they could be together again. Neither one could know for certain, but he wanted to chase away the stifling gloom that seemed to have settled in the room. He looked toward the window and could see that the last streaks of the day’s sun were breaking through the clouds. With a kiss to her cheek, Robert took Elizabeth’s hand and led her toward the doorway.

“Bobby?” she asked softly.

“Let’s get your coat and find some boots,” Robert said. “I need some fresh air.”

They bundled up and found some boots for their feet and headed outdoors. Robert stood near the door, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. There was only a little warmth in the late afternoon sun but the wind had died down and it didn’t seem all that could outside. Elizabeth turned back toward him and smiled. When he took a step toward her, she took off running along the path that he and Alan had shoveled earlier.

Robert reached down and scooped up some snow, quickly packing it into a ball and then tossing it toward her, missing her by a wide margin. His next throw struck her square in the back. She screamed and turned around, wagging a finger at him. When he stooped down to make another, Elizabeth squatted and scooped up some snow to return fire. Largely successful in ducking and dodging her throws, Robert worked his way closer to her. But as he reached down to pack up another snow ball, Elizabeth nailed him on the side of the head with a strong throw, enough to send some snow down the back of his neck and bring a loud roar from his mouth.

“Now you have done it Mrs. Fitz!” he shouted at her. She squealed loudly as he unleashed a barrage of snow, packing and throwing as fast as he could. Elizabeth zigzagged her way toward the safety of the barn with snow flying all around her. When she disappeared inside, Robert made for the open door, scooping up a huge handful of snow before entering and looking around for her. “All right Mrs. Fitz … I know you’re in here … come out, come out wherever you are …”

Robert listened but didn’t hear a sound, just those of the cattle and goats that were inside feeding. He moved through quietly, step by step, listening intently. When he heard the creak of the loft, he turned toward it and thought he caught a glimpse of a leg as it climbed the ladder. Holding the snowball carefully, he mounted the ladder, hearing a shuffling of the hay above him. “I know you’re up here, Lizzy … you know you can’t hide from me … just reveal yourself and I’ll go easy on you …”

Still there was no response. Robert climbed up onto the loft and looked around, a few bales were piled on one side and a pile of loose hay lie on the other. Robert grinned when he caught a glimpse of the toe of a boot poking out from the hay. “Hmm, maybe I was wrong …” he said loudly. “I guess that naughty little Mrs. Fitz isn’t up here after all.” When he heard the sound of a stifled giggle, he grabbed at the boot and heard Lizzy scream. When he pulled it toward him, her foot slipped out and he was left holding an empty boot. “Isn’t this interesting?” he said, setting the boot down behind him. “There must be a lady with a bare foot somewhere in this pile of hay.”

“No, there tisn’t,” came a soft squeaky little voice from the hay. “Just us church mice.”

“Uh-huh,” Robert said and began to fish his free hand in the pile of hay. When he brushed against something soft and warm he heard another giggle and began pulling off the hay in earnest. Soon he had uncovered a laughing Elizabeth who was backing away toward the wall of the barn. Robert held the snowball menacingly.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked as he neared her. “You wouldn’t, would you? I mean you wouldn’t dare.”

“You know that I would never do anything to hurt you, Lizzy,” Robert said approaching her. Elizabeth pulled her bare foot up under her skirt and tried to shrink back away from him as far as she could. “But then there is the matter of some cold snow that went down my neck, an act that must be repaid in kind.”

“Now, Bobby, please,” Elizabeth pleaded, trying to give him a wide-eyed look of innocence. “That was an accident … entirely an accident … I didn’t mean …”

“Oh, yes, I know all about that,” Robert chuckled as she held her hands out to protect herself. “But still I must exact my revenge … you know, tit for tat …”

“Bobby … Bobby,” Elizabeth said, her back now flat against the wall of the barn. In a quick move, Robert reached out and grabbed at Elizabeth’s ankle and pulled her toward him. He threw himself forward trapping her body underneath him and holding her wrists with one hand above her head while the other hand held the melting snowball near her face. “Bobby … please … don’t … I’ll do anything … please don’t …”

“Anything you say?”

“Well almost anything … within reason,” she replied.

“Hmm, that sounds very tempting, darling,” Robert said as if considering her offer. “I suppose that most men would negotiate some sort of compromise. But I am not most men.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Robert looked down at her and grinned. As his grin broadened, he began to chuckle evilly. He glanced at the dripping snowball then back down at the pretty little woman trapped underneath him. In another quick move he let go of her wrists and pawed at her coat, opening it and thrusting the snow down underneath her dress. Elizabeth squealed loudly in response, wiggling madly as the cold snow met the soft warm skin of her chest and breasts. Robert massaged the snow against her warm supple body, feeling her struggle wildly, kicking and punching at him as the snow melted against her body.

“Bobby! You! You! You!” she screamed, but his lips then covered her mouth muffling her screams at first, then receiving the mad passionate kiss she gave him. Both of his hands were touching her now, thrust down inside her dress that was now sodden from the melting snow. He felt her breasts, her suddenly rigid nipples, her warm tender flesh. “Look what you’ve done!” she said, pulling her coat open and unbuttoning her dress. “I’m dripping wet and freezing!”

“I know how to handle that,” Robert said with a grin. He brought his lips down to her neck and chest, kissing her chilled skin with his warm lips. He pulled at her slip, baring her breasts and the hard puckered rosy tips standing firmly atop them. His warm breath and hot kisses were everywhere now; his tongue licking and sucking at her chilled damp flesh.

“Oh, Bobby,” Elizabeth called out and he felt her wiggle underneath him, her hands taking hold of his head and guiding him from breast to breast and back again.

Robert rolled over in the hay, pulling her atop him. She leaned forward and felt his hands push away her damp clothing as he drew her breasts toward his mouth again. His hands moved up underneath her skirt and tugged at her knickers. They had again managed to forget all about what time it was, about the light supper that would be on the table soon, about the train that would take them apart, about the war. All that mattered was this wonderful feeling of passion and the love that was inextricably binding them together.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

Clothes disarranged.

Skin damp and chilled from the snow.

Skin damp and hot from the passion.

Elizabeth sat astride her lover, her body lifting slightly with each thrust he made into her body. She wriggled her hips, pushing herself down harder. Elizabeth wanted Bobby to fill her completely.

No holding back.

No playing safe.

Total.

Complete, as one.

Moving as one.

Each touch of his body against hers, Elizabeth marked and remembered. Her eyes half closed, head back, hands on Bobby’s chest, feeling the surges of breath drawn in. His fingers rubbing her nipples, teasing them to pink rosy points, beginning the tingling roaring fire, which began to sweep into her core.

She moaned.

Cried out.

Elizabeth’s passion tore through her, leaving her shaking, demanding it should stay. Elizabeth wanted to ride this wave for ever. To use it to banish the war, the world.

“Lizzy, Gods… Lizzy” Bobby’s voice calling her, his hands pulling her down into a rough embrace as his manhood jerked, filling her. She bent down, the necklace swinging forward, caught between their flesh as they lay silent in each other’s arms.

Elizabeth’s senses were swamped; she struggled to put each element in place, to cup it in her memory. The drip, drip of the melting snow, a harbinger of the thaw, now gripping the moor. The feeble, fading, winter sunbeam tracing across the hay, telling her that time was slipping by.

The smell of damp, hay, of Bobby’s skin, the aroma of their love making. The taste of love on her lips and the lingering pin pricks of its afterglow on her flesh.

How long they lay there Elizabeth could not remember, nor was the walk back to the farm house clear. But the words Alan spoke as they entered the door, were a steel rod pushed into her memory.

“There you are, rung the station, the trains are getting through. Running a bit late.” Alan peered out of the kitchen window watching the runnels of melted snow dribbling down the glass. “So, you want to make a try for the station later. Damn this stuff is going as fast as it came, but it won’t be the last mark my words.”

“Oh be quiet you old fool.” Mary snapped and slammed the lid on the kettle.

“No…I…” Bobby, stuttered as his grip on Elizabeth’s hand tightened. She felt sick, cold, far colder than she had in the snow. It was gone, the time together was gone.

“You best try…” Elizabeth said softly. She wanted to scream, no. make it snow again, lock us away here for ever. But what point would there be, she just sniffed, feeling a tear fill her right eye and trickle down her cheek.

“Gods, Elizabeth.” Robert said and wrapped her in his arms. He held her for what seemed an age, then they parted. “Best get out of these wet things and get packed.”

“Aye, if it keeps melting at this rate I will be able to take the cart down for you.” Alan said and earned a slap on the arm from his wife.

“Shut it, now I will make us a bite to eat, then…. Sandwiches you will want them and a bottle of beer… and." Mary huffed getting all practicable.

Bobby gave a half smile and left the kitchen, Elizabeth followed. In the dim glow both slipped out of their wet clothes, not touching, but neither taking their eyes of the other. Each committing the other to memory. Elizabeth’s fingers kept going to the necklace. Bobby removed the cuff links and placed them in the box, tucking them away safe.

A lopsided grin played over Bobby's face as he picked up his bag, then reached his hand out to Elizabeth. She took it turning it over in hers, bringing it up to her lips, kissing the palm. Bobby shuddered and dropped his bag. His arms closed roughly round her, clinging like a drowning man to her. Elizabeth shuddered and tried to speak.

“Supper…” Mary’s voice sounded up the stairs. Both reluctantly let go of the other and left the bedroom, their small island of safety from the war.

The food stuck in Elizabeth’s throat, all the way on the slow drive through the melting snow, she fought not to be sick. She trembled and licked her dry lips. Her head was buried in Robert’s shoulder, his arm tight round her. Her fingers of her left hand were on the butterfly, the small gold wings, pressing into the flesh.

They were not the only ones waiting on the small platform for the train, other shapes moved in and out of the hazy moonlight. The young soldier from Christmas eve; the girl he had kissed on the stair, clinging to his arm.

See you are not alone in this Elizabeth thought, but it didn’t help. The war was snatching the man she loved away from her again. She clung to Robert, only half hearing him say. “We will write, will ring. You are not getting rid of me that easily Mrs Fitz.” The joke made her feel sicker, she tried to speak, but the words froze, all she could do was lock her lips on Bobby’s.

She heard his groan through the hiss of the stream train's arrival. Elizabeth pushed herself closer, hoping to bury herself in him, in the man she adored, to keep him here.

But it failed, Bobby peeled her arms off him and stepped to the train, getting in, rolling down the window. Elizabeth stumbled forward, reaching out her hand, holding his as the guard blew the whistle. The train shuddered and hissed. Elizabeth cried out now. “Nooooo… please…” She felt so cold, so lost, so… she feared.. far more than before for… feared she would never see him again.

“See you soon Mrs Fitz, I love you…. God do I…” Bobby’s words were lost in the rattle of the carriage and his hand was snatched from hers as the train shunted forward.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

April 17, 1941

My Dear Elizabeth,

Despite being spring, it has been cold here in Scotland the past few days but just the thought of you warms me up. There is talk about that we will be moving to Egypt or Cyprus in another month. Forthwright has been tight lipped about everything, preferring to keep us concentrating on protecting the Scapa Flow. The Jerries just do not seem to want to go away, flying now every day from their bases in Norway. Reading this over now, I realize that it won’t make much sense one the censors are finished with it—Hello, Miss Prim, how are you?

But I did not write to keep you up to date with news of the war. I would much rather tell you of the dreams I have of you and of how much I have missed you! I carry your picture with me always, poor thing is nearly in tatters now. I finally had a formal occasion to wear the cufflinks when the PM came north for a visit to bolster morale and we were all ordered to turn out in dress blues. Flight line rumor has it that the old boy drank Forthwright under the table!

How are things with you, my love, my darling? Do you know how much I wish to be with you, to feel the warmth of your body next to mine, to taste your lips and hear the sounds you make in love? Do you know that I lie in bed awake many nights and you visit me and my hand becomes your hand, your mouth, and your body taking me in love?

Someday, when this war is over, I want to find a place where we both can be together, at my home in the States or here in England. I have fallen in love with your country just as I fell in love with you. Your people are strong and resilient and hard working, making sacrifices on a daily basis that would surprise my own friends and family. Surely there must be a place that we can be together. I hope to see you soon, in a few weeks as we talked about on the phone the other night. How wonderful it was to hear your voice, your laugh, and the way you say, “I Love You!” I can’t wait till I can see you again and take you into my arms and show you just how deep is my love for you!

With many warm hugs and kisses, my sweet lady,
Bobby

Robert held the letter still for a few moments and read it over as the ink dried. Then he folded it up and wrote out her address. He wondered when she might get this one. Her letters arrived so infrequently, he might go weeks without one, then get several in one week. But he loved getting them, even more that his packages from back home. Sure, his mother’s macaroons and peanut butter cookies were always a hit out on the flight line, and the notes and cards and leather gloves that his sisters sent always cheered him up. But a letter from the lovely Mrs. Fitz always brought a smile to his face and sent his heart a beat faster. He would often lie in his bunk reading it over and over, picturing her sitting at her table dressed in a silken slip writing it. He would sniff it for traces of her perfume and hold it against his chest and let his mind wander through the memories of when they had been together.

“Say, Bobby, you up for a trip into town?” called out Finch as he burst into the barracks.

“I might be,” Robert replied looking up at his lively wingmate. “I have something to post in the mail anyway.”

“Some of the other boys are heading to the Arch tonight for a little liveliness,” Finch went on. “Seeing that we are off till tomorrow afternoon, why don’t you come along and get filthy drunk.”

“I suppose a glass of ale wouldn’t hurt,” Robert smiled.

“A glass of ale? One glass of ale?” Finch laughed. “You’re a member of the 213th, the Hornets, and we don’t leave a pub till some glass is broken or some blood is let or some lively lass is put on her back, legs up in the air!”

Robert chuckled at his wingmate’s declaration. He knew of the Arch, the long street in a downtrodden side of town with a decorative arch at one end where several clandestine establishments had set up shop to entertain the pilots and crewmen who had swamped the small town and overwhelmed its entertainment resources. “Does this mean a trip to the Bloated Goat?” he asked.

“I think the boys were talking about the Golden Lion,” Finch replied.

“But they water the drinks badly there,” Robert complained.

“But the girls are the prettiest!”

Knowing that he would be the only exclusive drinker this night, Robert didn’t bother protesting any longer. By mid evening, the better part of the 213th was ensconced at the Golden Lion, Robert holding sway at the bar while the other lads paired off with the lovelies and disappeared up the stairs for a few minutes or an hour or two.

“So are you going to sit here all night, Yank?” asked Cropsie, his uniform shirt smudged with the lipstick of his most recent conquest.

Robert didn’t answer with more than a smile. It wasn’t that the girls weren’t pretty at best or enticing in the least way, but they weren’t the woman he loved. He missed Elizabeth dearly and couldn’t help comparing each girl he saw to her. Some might be fuller of figure or have a more exotic hairstyle or an infectious laugh or some other special trait. But none could match the lovely Mrs. Fitzmorgan, her sparkling emerald eyes, her soft waves of auburn hair, her lilting laugh, her small slender curves, and her willful loving intensity. He tossed down the last of his drink and set it on the stack that he was building in front of him. No matter how many glasses he drank his way straight through to the bottom, he knew he wouldn’t find her there.

“Saving it all for your girl back home?” Cropsie went on.

“You might say that,” Robert answered. “Something like that.”

“But look at you, been gone from home what, a year now? It ain’t natural for a man to hold out that long,” Cropsie laughed. “Ain’t natural for a man to be without for more than a month.”

“We all have our own timetables, Crops,” Robert remarked, waving over another shot glass of whiskey. “I’m not like you lads, all full of swagger and nerve. I’m a different sort.”

“That you are, lad,” Cropsie replied with a raucous laugh. “Nothing like the other Yanks I’ve seen drift through the ranks, all full of piss and vinegar. You’re different. You think too much. Hell, that’s why we need to get you laid. Come on lads!” Cropsie was calling out to the others of the 213th trying to rally them ‘round their mate. They were a drunken sodden lot that shouted and pushed and pummeled Robert, trying to pry him from his bar stool and prod him toward the bevy of lovely willing ladies. A handful of banknotes was quickly raised and thrust into his hand. But Robert held his ground and was resolute. The girls were charming and endearing to a point, but their charms were lost on the sad young American flyboy whose eyes looked but could not see his love.

“You are a strange one, Bobby,” said Wolfy Wolfington, as they tramped their way toward the idling lorry. “But I like you … anyway.” Just as the door swung open and they began to pile in, the call siren sounded off in the distance.

“Bloody Hell!” Finch cussed loudly. “Figures Jerry would find a way to spoil a good drunk!”

By the time they were back on base and sobered up with strong ersatz coffee and a flightplan, the German squadron was closing fast on the Scapa Flow seaport. The 213th would soon be rising up to meet them and Robert felt in his pocket for the wrinkled photo and finding it closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I do this all for you Lizzy … for you and for me!

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

With many warm hugs and kisses, my sweet lady

Elizabeth re-read the last line of Robert’s last letter. Last. The word burned. Hurt. There were gaps, long painful gaps between letters and snatched phone calls. Gaps that were filled with loneliness, longing and dreams of maybe, one day, if.

January, February and March were some of the coldest months on record. It was if fate wasn’t content with Britain standing alone, facing the enemy poised a few miles away; the elements themselves must try and add to the burden.

Coal was in short supply for domestic use. Industry must and did have first call on all that was hewn out of the hills and valleys of Wales, the north and midlands. The populace made do. The people began to make an art form of “making do.”

The battle of the Atlantic was at its height, the U boats “happy time” as it was later called, in full swing. In January, 63 ships were sunk, in February, 69. Add these losses to the 321 lost in 1940 in the Atlantic and 497 in UK waters it was plain Britain was on the brink, just as it had been from the German air force the previous September.

The British survived this period through a number of factors, including the development of improved tactics. Corvettes, small warships of less than 1000 tons, helped to plug the gaps in the Royal Navy's escort capability, and the Allied occupation of Iceland, which belonged to German-occupied Denmark, gave Britain some valuable Atlantic bases.

The emergence of powerful allies was also vital. The Royal Canadian Navy, which was tiny in 1939, began an amazing period of growth that eventually made it capable of bearing a substantial part of the fighting in the North Atlantic. Even more importantly, the United States, although neutral, began to behave in a most un-neutral fashion.

From May 1941 the US Navy became a British ally in the struggle in the Atlantic. By taking over escort duties in the western Atlantic, it became involved in a shooting war with Germany, and on Halloween 1941, the inevitable happened. While escorting a British convoy, an American warship, the destroyer Reuben James, was torpedoed and sunk by the submarine U-562.

This though was in the future, a future, which would plunge the US into the heart of the war.

In the first few months of 1941 the British people dealt with food shortages and bombing raids, the fear of loosing; not only fathers, sons, husbands and lovers, but wives, children, mothers and daughters. The war was total and being fought in far away places.

In late January the British Newspapers and the BBC reported on the taking of Toburk in North Africa, from Italian hands on the 22nd January.

Elizabeth sort to fill her letters with these as she could not find the words to express her longing and desire for Robert.

A visit from Royalty on Thursday March 20th 1941. HRH King George VI and Queen Elizabeth arrived by Royal Train at 10.30am that morning at Millbay Station, where they were greeted by Lady Astor, deputising for her husband, and other high ranking service officers. They visited the Royal Marine Barracks, the Royal Naval Barracks, the Royal Dockyard and Her Majesty even called in on the patients and staff of the Royal Naval Hospital, before taking tea with Lady Astor at No. 3 Elliot Terrace on the Hoe. During this there was an air raid alert but it came to nothing. After tea, the party visited the YMCA in Union Street before embarking on the Royal Train again, ready for departure at 5.45pm.

After the Royal family’s departure, Elizabeth told Bobby that Plymouth caught another packet that night, which was the first half of what was to be termed the Plymouth Blitz. Elizabeth told her beloved of injured, being brought to the Cottage hospital as the main hospitals over flowed.

These things and personal ones, Elizabeth tried to put into her letters.

She told Robert of the birth of Hattie and Thomas’ daughter Megan, of Hattie nearly giving birth in the butchers, while waiting to be served. Of Thomas not getting leave to visit his new family for over a month; then a snatched four days, which was both painful and glorious for both of their friends

She told of her continued work at the cottage Hospital, of spending New Year with her mother and her mother asking her to return home to Norfolk. Part of Elizabeth wanted too, but part of her was afraid that if she did Bobby would not be able to find her. Here he knew where she was, here was littered with memories of him.

Elizabeth sighed and pulled her cardigan tighter against the cold. The sluggish fire belched smoke into the small room adding to the oppression.

She sniffed and fiddled with the fountain pen, then began to write.

My Dearest, my beloved Bobby,

How are you? Silly question I know, but I think of you often. No that sounds cold, God help me Bobby I think of you here with me so much it hurts. I want you to hold me, to love me, to kiss me in the way you said the ladies of Paris taught you, naughty of me isn’t it? I want so much for this war to finish, for it to be over then we…

Elizabeth stopped and frowned, should she mention? It would be foolish to, it could be nothing. They had never played it safe, never wanted too, never thought. Nothing had happened; Elizabeth believed that nothing would, well part of her believed that.

Yet since Christmas, since that wonderful time when she last felt Robert inside her; was aware of him pushing so deep as if he was entering her soul. Since that time her body had begun to tell her things.

For one she had “missed” three times. Not been “ill” Had no sign of the “curse”. It happened. Happened to lots of women now, because food was short, because of stress, because they hadn’t “played safe.”

“I am not PWP, pregnant without permission.” Elizabeth muttered; it was just one of those things. But what if she was, what if the surging, powerful acts of love, of lust, no Elizabeth thought, not that, it wasn’t. Bobby loved her she was sure. But they lived for the moment, no plans, no thought beyond now.

Now there was a possible “thing” beyond the now. Elizabeth wondered as she finished the letter with trivial things, everyday things what Robert would say, if it were true.

Elizabeth signed her letter and sealed it, then rose. As she stood her hand ran down her stomach and she imagined it was Robert’s. His fingers pressing the fabric of the skirt against her flesh, his hand tugging up the hem of the skirt and running up her thigh. It was the warmth of his touch that slipped in the leg of her, now faded silk French knickers.

Elizabeth sobbed and snatched her hand away.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

It was the first of May when the letter came, the unofficial official notice, but Robert had been forewarned through the 213th chain of command. All of the Yankee flyboys like him who had volunteered and flown for the RAF in the past several months were being asked politely to come home. Like the others who had survived the Blitz, Robert had seen the Germans at their most relentless and bloody worst and could provide a depth of knowledge and intelligence. But even though the Americans were isolated from the war, like the others he knew that it was only a matter of time before the Americans would be in this war.

Not that the infrequent letters from home were any indication of how well the general population understood the situation. Those from his sisters told of dances and parties and winter fairs and shopping trips to New York. Even Garner Sheppard had written and told briefly of his recovery and went on at length of the great time he had enjoyed seeing the Benny Goodman Orchestra at the Strand Theatre. Those from his parents were little better as they told of work and prosperity and charity galas but were at least littered with questions; just how bad can it be over there? Is it really as terrible as Edward R. Murrow reports? Is it so necessary for you to be there when you should be home helping your father with his business?

The cookies wrapped in tin foil helped assuage his yearning for home, but the folks back home really didn’t understand. No matter how truthfully he tried to convey the scenes and settings and privations he had witnessed, the impact seemed to fall short of the target. War was coming to America and to Robert there was no doubt absolutely, but his friends and family seemed so completely unprepared for war and its consequences. Rationing was the rule here. Petrol had been rationed for almost two years to feed the thirsty planes of the RAF and industrial needs. Bacon, ham, sugar and butter were available only with a ration book. Meat, tea, margarine, fats, jam and cheese were all couponed. There was a rumor that clothing would soon be rationed as well, freeing up labor and manufacturing space for more important and urgent wartime needs. With each letter home, Robert tried to warn his family and friends of what England was going through and he knew that the same kind of sacrifice would soon be saddled on America.

What was more on his mind many hours of each day was the little woman in the south of England. It had been nearly impossible to ring up Lizzy lately. The lines were almost always down, and if by chance they were working, she wasn’t home. Robert would let the line ring on for several minutes just hoping that Elizabeth was asleep or just coming in through the door. And then the line would go dead and he would slump back to his billet and lie in bed, holding the tattered photo of fair Lizzy to his heart, hoping, wishing that she would know of him if only by telepathy.

Of course it didn’t help that the 213th kept moving nearly every month. In February they had moved to Castleton, then in late March up to Sumburgh on Shetland Island, and now were installed at Turnhouse near Edinburgh. Rumors were flying rampant that they would be moving in another week or ten days down to Liverpool where the squad would be loaded onto a flattop for assignment in Africa. The rumors were the worst. Command seemed to be so tight lipped that there were acres available for rumors to grow. The most logical was being shipped down to the Mediterranean where the Germans were threatening Egypt and the Suez as a stepping stone to the oil riches of the Middle East.

For now, their duty was less than intense as the squadron was protecting the port at Firth of Forth. At times they might find themselves up as far north as Moray Firth or even the port at Scapa Flow fending off the persistent German attacks on the vital shipping that Britain so terribly needed to survive. The nasty Hun flew over from Norway on a regular if not routine schedule. The line of Iron Crosses on the Lovely Mrs Fitz had grown to 20 by the first of May. Only Forthwright with 28 had more in his squadron. But as the line had grown, a new realization had dawned in Robert. Sure, there were people in America who could boast of being his family and his closest friends, but over the past year the lads of the 213th had truly become his “family.” They ate and slept together, laughed together and silently mourned those friends who had not returned. And each day they again took to the skies and covered each other’s asses.

So when the letter arrived, Robert lay down on his bunk and re-read it a hundred times. He knew what it meant and he knew that he would follow the implied orders. His thoughts immediately went to Elizabeth. It had been many days since he had last received a letter from her. He loved every one of them, full of news of friends and her work and the war effort in the south. He still chuckled at the thought of Squadron Leader Thomas Mason as a father of a little girl. But Robert became seized with the idea of seeing Elizabeth one last time before he left the country. Letters would take far too long and were completely unreliable. He tried to call but couldn’t get through. Then he showed Forthwright the letter and gave his notice.

“You know that you don’t have to leave, Bobby,” Forthwright said in his stern unemotional voice. “There are no absolutes in the wording.”

“But the intent is clear, Commander,” Robert replied.

The older man approached Robert, his heavy brow drawn together and his eyes filled with an emotion that belied that damnable stiff upper lip.

“There is no way that we can ever repay you for all that you’ve done here,” Forthwright said, fending off the emotions that threatened his stern but calm voice. “You do realize that.”

“I know, Sir, and I understand,” Robert replied. “But my country needs me now and I know that I will be back again, perhaps sooner than you and I realize.”

“I wish that were not true … how much I wish that were not so,” Forthwright remarked and then moved slowly and deliberately toward the windows that looked out onto the flight line. A wing of Hurricanes was tooling down the runway making ready to pull up into the drawn blue skies of northern Scotland. “There must be some way that we can repay you, but I’m not sure that …”

“Don’t think of it,” Robert said interrupting. “Being able to take part in all of this has meant so much to me. One day soon, you and I will be standing at the gates of Berlin carrying the colors of our victorious countries.”

Forthwright laughed aloud. “You bloody Americans! What the hell would we do with out that cockeyed optimism?”

“The goosestep?”

Forthwright turned back to him. The men embraced and slapped each other on the back.

“Go on,” Forthwright remarked. “Get your kit packed!”

That evening there was a going away party the likes of which no member of the 213th had never seen. Even Finch who always had a sharp tongue got all mealy mouthed and sobby and couldn’t fend off every tear that encroached upon his cheeks. They all fell off drunk and disorderly to their bunks well after midnight. Even a pair had been lost in town and showed up just before call the next morning, their disheveled uniforms and traces of cheap perfume and garish lipstick prompting reprimands and assorted chuckles among the ranks.

Robert was slated for transport to the States from Liverpool, but as he laid out his plans, he kept thinking of his fair Elizabeth. As he lie in his bunk, remarkably lucid in his drunkenness, he connived a plan whereby he would travel south if for only a day, a few hours, a few minutes. Before he left that following morning, the haze of his hangover as thick and foggy as the air outside the officer’s billet, he stood once more beside the proud Lovely Mrs Fitz so that the grounds crew could take a photograph. They posed together as the shutter snapped off, hoping that the teary eyes wouldn’t show.

Then with his kit bag in hand, Robert bid his goodbyes, moving through the billet toward the door, shaking hands and ladling out promises of a quick return. Next he knew he was standing on the platform listening to the churn and hiss of the engine slowing, the creak of the train cars. As he settled into his seat and looked around at the overstuffed dingy train car he could hear the lush brass choir of the Dorsey Orchestra leading into the seamless muted solo by The Man himself playing in his head. When he leaned back into the seat and felt the car lurch forward he could hear the youthful sound of The Voice himself crooning the immortal lyrics of Sammy Fain, “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places that this heart of mine embraces all day through …”

As the train trundled south each phrase of the lyric rang home to him. Robert could picture nearly every moment he had spent with her, on the swings at the park, on the dance floor, at each little restaurant, between the sheets, bent over the sink base. He wanted Elizabeth so much, he needed her so desperately, it seemed that he fell in and out of a sleepy dreamy state as the train continued, alternately lulling him to sleep and jarring him awake.

When the train slowed toward the station at Darlington, or was it further south, he didn’t recognize, he woke up from his nodding doze and glanced over at the train on the next track just starting to pull out northbound. Hardly different from that on which he rode, Robert nearly let his eyes fall down and back to sleep but for some reason he looked over. Neither train was barely moving at speed and he smiled to see the passengers in the opposing coaches looking over in his direction.

Then for a moment, he saw her, her face, fuller though the eyes were sunken a bit. No! It couldn’t be her, it couldn’t be Elizabeth! But then the shock of recognition struck her too and she pounded on the window and shouted something that he couldn’t possibly hear. For a second or two they froze and looked at each other, then he got up and began to run fruitlessly along the aisle following the path of her train until he met the door of the train car. He passed through the door and leaned over the railing trying to catch one more glimpse of her but to no avail. He pounded the railing with his hand once then twice. Then Robert felt his heart sink as his mind raced to find an explanation. Was she, could she be traveling northward to meet him? Or was she traveling homeward?

Despite the potential answers that flooded his mind, he slunk back to his seat. The rest of his trip was futile and purposeless. It felt as if it had been ages since he had been to Tangmere. Although the base and streets were teeming with people, they were deserted to his eyes since he couldn't see Elizabeth. Every place he wandered he could remember being with her. But it felt strange to him and he decided to leave on the next available train to Liverpool. But before he left, he penned one last letter and posted it.

May 4

My Dearest Elizabeth!

How can I say this to you, but that I have been asked to return home to help in organizing the US Army Air Forces for what can only be a quick entry into this damned war! Was that you I saw in the train station at Darlington or wherever? I wanted so much to see you once more before I left. My heart has sunk so low now that your flat is emptied and even the trace of your scent is scrubbed away. This war has given us so much and taken so much away from both of us. I will keep you always in my heart and when I return—and I will return—I will come to you, my dear sweet Lizzy, and we will be together again, and no war, no one, nothing will part us again! I love you always, Lizzy, my fair Mrs. Fitzmorgan!

With many hugs and kisses,

Bobby Wilson

Without reading it a second time, Robert folded up the letter and addressed it. Lord knows when or if she would ever receive it. By the time he was standing on the deck of the aging steamer that would carry him back to the States he thought of a hundred other things he wanted to tell her and regretted not being able to do so. He stood at the fantail of the rusty old USS Grant and watched as the port faded into the outline of the shore and then the shore narrowed to a thin strip of land that soon sank into the gray ocean. His lungs coughed as the chill humid air seeped into him and chased him down below. He collapsed into a cold chair in the lounge and ordered a hot drink. Lizzy, my God, sweet Elizabeth, I love you! I always will! It would be a long dry trip home and he couldn’t wait to get to Trendel’s Bar and Grill on Candless Avenue and get stupid stinking drunk!

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan.

The end of April had the doctor confirming a fact Elizabeth had been trying to hide from herself. She was pregnant.

She sat with Hattie as the small kitchen table in the cottage. By the half open door the large pram containing Hattie’s daughter seemed to be an omen. Good or bad? Wanted or not wanted.

“Well?” Hattie asked as she blew on her cup of tea. “What are you going to do?”

“Do?” Elizabeth repeated, refusing to let her hand tremble as she lifted the cup.

“Yes do, have you told him, do you intend telling him, do you want the child, do you think he would want the child, DO YOU WANT TO GET RID OF IT AND FORGET IT EVER HAPPENED?” Hattie didn’t say the last sentence any louder than the rest of her small speech, but it thundered into Elizabeth’s mind and heart. She could, couldn’t she, pretend that… no she couldn’t, but if Bobby… he wouldn’t he wasn’t that sort.He loved her as much as she loved him. You don’t know, you never talked of this happening, never thought it would never lived or loved; except for the moment. Now a different sort of moment was here and you have to live and plan and accept what happens.

“NO!” Elizabeth’s answer was startled, yet firm.

“No matter what, won’t be easy?” Hattie said looking over at her sleeping daughter, “bad enough with a father around some of the time.”

“You are thinking Bobby won’t care or…” Elizabeth now did begin to shake. Hattie clucked her tongue and reached out to her friend, taking her hand, comforting her.

“Don’t know until you tell him, best you do that. Not that I think Bobby is the sort that will leave you up the creek, but… be prepared for the worse.”

“Thank you Hattie…” Elizabeth snapped and pulled her hand away.

“Just being practicable Lizzy, if you are going to do this you have got to be, get your feet on the ground. You got another person to think of now. Be easier for you than a lot of lasses, you have a bit of money and I doubt your mother will throw you to the wolves so to speak.”

“No… she won’t… I suppose I best tell her, go home and…” Elizabeth mumbled as she tried to get her mind on what must be done, what must be said to…

“And tell Bobby…” Hattie added.

“Not in a letter, face to face…” Elizabeth sat back her small mouth set firm.

“That’s my girl,” Hattie said. Elizabeth was not sure if her friend was referring to her or to her newly woken daughter.

The next few days were not easy. Bobby, Elizabeth knew had been moving about. Thomas, found out for her where he was, but he also found out something else. One good thing as she had blurted out her news to her mother over the crackling phone, Gwyneth Clancy, the soon to be Mrs. Martin Travis said just a few words. “Come home”

“ He’s at Turnhouse near Edinburgh, long way Lizzy.” Thomas said as he held his daughter at arms length, eyeing the wriggling bundle with a look of slight annoyance, due to the fact they was a rather large wet patch on his left knee. “Hattie your offspring needs a strip down.”

“See Lizzy, how he denies his part.” Hattie laughed as she took the child from its father’s arms. Elizabeth winced, the joke was not so funny these days and her hand strayed to her own stomach.

“Yes I know it’s a long way and with the trains as they are.” Elizabeth was set on her path. “Before I go I will have everything of mine packed up in the cottage, can you..” She looked at Hattie.

“I will make sure it is on the train for Norfolk.”

Elizabeth nodded as Thomas began to speak again “One more thing Lizzy, rumour going round, no more than a rumour. The Yank government has asked for its lads to be sent home, something about them needing them.”

“Does that mean the Yanks might be…” Hattie asked as she returned with a now dry baby in her arms.

“No and it doesn’t mean Robert will go back.” Thomas said.

“He will,” Elizabeth said flatly. “It’s his country. His duty, if he believes going back is the best thing to perhaps shorten this war he would do it.”

###

Trains; packed: smelly, smoky stop, start, change and change again. It was bad enough normally, but as Elizabeth found being four months pregnant and suffering from the all day version of “morning sickness” It was no joke.

Just before Darlington, a small station the train chugged to a halt. Elizabeth sighed and shifted in her seat, glancing blankly out of the window. Figures, and faces appeared and disappeared on the other side of the smeared windows of the train along side. Her heart jolted, she knew. It couldn’t be? Bobby… she banged on the window, shouted, began to cry and tried to fight her way out of the packed car, but it was hopeless. Her train was moving picking up speed. His train was as well. Elizabeth pressed her teat streaked face to the glass and watched the train with her lover on vanish.

At the next station, Elizabeth got off, fought her way to the ticket office and exchanged her ticket for one going south. She tried to ring Hattie, but couldn’t get through. Exhausted mentally and physically she arrived at the cottage where she no longer lived. She was too late; if Robert had been here he had gone. Elizabeth sat on the doorstep and sobbed.

##

Two weeks later Elizabeth, while sitting at the breakfast table at her childhood home of Maisthorpe Manor in Norfolk, he mother handed her a letter. It had been forwarded by the new tenants along with some other mail and a terse note to inform people of her change of address.

Elizabeth opened it and slowly read the words for the first time. Over the next few months she would re-read it again and again, even when she no longer believed. But for now what should she do? Should she tell him of the child? What point would it serve? Bobby was half a world away and well something might happen and… Elizabeth sighed. She took the letter and went up to her room and began to write a cheerful reply, explaining about her trying to come north to see him. She addressed it to the scribbled address Robert had put on the top of the letter, which was care of the US embassy in London.

Next time she would tell him. Next time.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

The trip home on the USS Grant seemed to last forever given the zigzagging route they were forced to take because of the German U-Boat threat. The Grant was a rusty old tub that creaked and groaned, and each minute of voyage seemed to be threatening to explode or at least fall apart. But in a way, the long tedious journey gave Robert some time to think over where he had been and where he was going. He was a man in transition, from a new and exciting world where every moment was lived on the edge to an old and familiar mundane routine, away from the love of his life to an uncertain welcome.

On the way Robert made friends with his bunkmates. Coincidentally, one was a returning Yank pilot, Ronny Meyers, who had been with the 151st in the south. Ronny had been wounded though not too seriously, and was nervous and fidgeting pending a visit to his own stateside doctor. There was a med student returning from studies in England. Oh yes, and a journalist, a scribe for the New York Times who seemed so anxious to learn every little thing he could particularly from Robert and Ronny. Over all night card games, they told him very little, only vague stories about life on the island and little about life in the air.

On one chill north Atlantic evening, Robert was standing at the stern railing with Ronny, glancing wistfully back from whence they had come. Ronny nudged him in the ribs.

“Still pining for your lost English love?” Ronny asked.

“No, I’m over that,” Robert lied. “At least I think I am.”

“That’s why I never let myself get involved with a real girl,” Ronny chided. “Just floozies and harlots. No fine English bird is going to break my heart.”

“Yes, but are you bringing home any souvenirs?”

“What? Like trinkets for mother?”

“No, like a disease or two,” Robert answered.

“Yeah, but they have a fix for that, I tell you,” Ronny replied. “My Doc will give me a shot and I’ll be back to normal. Easier than fixing up a broken heart, my friend.”

“Maybe,” Robert commented dreamily.

“Then why don’t we go down below and share a flask of that rotten old Irish whiskey I brung along?”

“Yeah,” Robert said curtly. “I need that.”

And so it was during the first days of the voyage, that he would think of Elizabeth. Sometimes it would be the mention of her name or something that sounded like it. Other times it would be the glow of the moon on the starlit sea. And then there were the times when he was alone in the cabin with only his scattered memories of her and a firm thick bulge in his skivvies that brought his hand down to touch himself and remember the warm wet feel of her tongue and mouth, the hot urgency of her sex rising and falling the length of his shaft. Oh, god, how he missed her! And not even the rank burning taste of Meyer’s purloined whiskey could chase away his need.

After eight days they landed in New York. Robert made his way to Grand Central Station and bought a ticket for the next train to Cleveland. Within the day he was home. He regretted cabling his family to let them know when to expect him, for there was a houseful of friends and well-wishers on hand to welcome him back. He had an inkling about what was to happen when he saw the tent set up in the side yard as the taxi drove him up the long drive. After several eager hugs and kisses from his mother and sisters, and plenty of glad handshakes from his father and friends, Garner Sheppard, limp and all, pressed a glass of liquor into Robert’s hand and everyone took turns toasting the returning hero.

“To my big brave son, who has gone off to fight a war that we pray will never reach these shores,” shouted his father. “We love you son and are glad to have you back with us! And now it’s back to business as usual!”

Robert hadn’t told them about the papers he had received from the Army Air Force that were stuck in his breast pocket of his jacket. He had a month to do so and would need that much time to get them used to the idea that another tour of duty in a different uniform might be in the offing.

“Now don’t anyone go anywheres!” called out his mother. “Marvelle and I have been working in the kitchen for two days so no one goes away hungry!” The proud family cook stood nearby, stirring a pot of soup and smiling, a bead of sweat working down over her dark skin.

The balance of the afternoon was spent eating and drinking and celebrating. To Robert it seemed that the event was more for those who had been left behind than for him. There seemed to be so much food and the liquor flowed freely. It seemed so unreal compared to the stark privations that he had become used to in the past year.

Robert felt oddly out of place, as if they were feting someone else and not him. He detached himself from the group and went inside to rest in his father’s study. He sank back into a favorite old leather chair and closed his eyes. He could hear the tumult of the celebration outside and felt lost amid the commotion. In his mind he thought of England and the 213th. Were his lads finally on their way to the Mediterranean and on to Egypt? How was Finch and the rest? Still dipping their wicks in any jar along the way?

“Bobby? Are you in here?” rang out a voice that jarred him from his little reverie. He looked up to see Helen Worthing standing at the door. The daughter of a business partner of his father, she was a tall slender pretty girl, her brown hair worn short and wavy, sort of like Myrna Loy in The Thin Man. Her gray-blue eyes were sparkling in the subdued light of the study. She smiled when he noticed her and looked down shyly. “Is it all right if I come in? I don’t want to disturb you if you need to be alone.”

“No, uh, I mean sure, come on in,” Robert said, immediately wishing he had answered differently. He was so used to being alone, it felt awkward to have company.

“My father has kept us posted all about your exploits,” Helen said as she moved into the room toward the chair opposite Robert. She crossed her legs carefully, though raising the hem of her dress above her well-sculpted knee. “I’ve never known a war hero before.”

“That makes two of us,” Robert chuckled. Helen laughed nervously. “I’m not sure what all your father told you, especially after hearing it from my father, exaggerations and all, but I’m no hero. I just did what had to be done.”

“Garner was telling me about how you saved his life,” Helen said wistfully. “I can only imagine how terrible it must have been to face life and death every minute you’re in the sky.”

“I can see that Garner has probably exaggerated as well,” Robert said. “Like I said, I only did what duty called on me to fulfill.”

“Well, you may be all full of modesty,” Helen went on. “But I think you are a very brave man … very brave.” She reached over and patted his hand with hers. Glancing down at her hand, he noticed how delicate and perfect her hand was, her long slim fingers tipped with perfectly manicured painted nails. When he looked over to her, he noticed the lovely dress she was wearing, light and summery, sheer enough to reveal the dainty lace slip and underpinnings that lie beneath. Her breasts surged upward proudly with her every breath as she gently rubbed Robert’s hand with hers.

“Thanks,” he said, turning his hand over to take hold of hers. Helen grasped his hand and pulled it toward her face, pressing it against her cheek and then kissing it. “You’ve grown up since I left, Helen. Quite a bit. I remember you as something of a kid actually.”

“Well, I’m not,” she remarked proudly, holding her head up, straightening out her shoulders, and thrusting her chest forward, a move not lost on Robert. “I graduated from Vassar this year.”

“And what are you going to do now?” he asked, wary of the potential answer.

“Right this minute, or with my life?” she asked.

“Either … both … whatever,” Robert equivocated.

“Since my degree is in English and History, I’m going to get my teaching certificate,” Helen said with a smile. Keeping his hand in hers, she slowly stood up and moved to the edge of Robert’s chair. “As for what right this minute …”

Helen leaned over, brought her other hand to Robert’s cheek, and guided her mouth toward his for a light sweet brushing kind of kiss. He didn’t pull away though part of him wanted to; he didn’t push her away as no part of him wanted to; he did kiss her back, and then he pulled her toward him. She lost her balance and tumbled down into his lap with a cute little scream, her arms settling about his shoulders, and her face just a breath away from his. They chuckled together for a moment, but as their eyes locked together, their laughter dissolved into a serious look. When they kissed again, it was not a light brushing kiss, but one that spoke of heat and lust.

A few minutes later, they were hustling down the driveway hand in hand toward her father’s car, a brand new dark blue Buick convertible sedan with a red leather interior. Garner and a few others heard the squeals of laughter echoing along the side of the house and peered over to see Robert and Helen jump into the Buick and roar away down the drive.

“Looks like our hero has some celebrating of his own to do,” Garner joked loudly. The two fathers, longtime business partners and close friends, stood together silently and happily shook hands.

The Buick took them quickly to Highway 6 along the lakeshore. Robert remembered a favorite secluded spot and pulled the big blue car off the road and through a break in the trees the lead to a gorgeous view of the lake. As the sound of the motor died away, their next kiss was anything but shy and chaste. Their hands explored each other’s body, quickly loosening buttons and pulling garments away. With her dress spread open and Robert’s kisses falling up her firm round breasts, Helen let him pull down her silk panties and toss them into the back seat. She guided him toward her center, sighing and moaning deeply as he entered her. He was stronger than she had imagined, his lean and muscular broad-shouldered body taking her suddenly and violently.

“Oh my god, Bobby,” she cried out as he held her tightly and pumped his body into her. She lifted her stockinged legs up and wrapped them around his surging hips. “Oh, Bobby … oh, Bobby … oh, Bobby!”

In the throes of passion, neither one of them noticed how the high heel of Helen’s shoe smashed into the dial of the clock that was mounted in the center of the dashboard, sending shards of glass tumbling to the carpet. It wouldn’t be until much later, when they climbed back into the car following a refreshing nude swim in the lake, that they would notice the broken clock face and speculate on how best to explain it her father. But as they drove back under the gently darkening skies, Robert smiled to himself as Helen nestled beside him. He hadn’t felt so good in months.

***********

From the time he had returned home in early May 1941, Robert poured over the local newspapers for news of the war that was being nearly universally ignored in the States by all but a few high up in government. Buried among the articles on local politics and social affairs were the morsels that Robert voraciously consumed. On May 9 the British Royal Navy had captured the German submarine U-110. Unknown to the rest of the world was a secret that would tilt the Intelligence War in favor of the Allies because on-board was the latest Enigma cryptography machine that Allied cryptographers would later use to break coded German messages. On the next day, the Luftwaffe damaged the United Kingdom's House of Commons. That same day, Rudolf Hess parachuted into Scotland claiming to be on a peace mission.

On May 20 German troops invaded Crete. On the following day, May 21, finally came a story that the American papers relegated to a small paragraph on the second page as the freighter SS Robin Moor became the first United States ship sunk by a German U-boat 950 miles off the coast of Brazil. On May 24 the German battleship Bismarck sank the HMS Hood in the North Atlantic killing all but three crewman on a ship that was the pride of the Royal Navy. Two days later Swordfish planes from the carrier HMS Ark Royal fatally crippled the Bismarck in a torpedo attack. It would sink the next day with a loss of 2,300 German lives. That last story finally cracked the front pages. Later that day, in an address to the country, President Franklin D. Roosevelt proclaimed that an "unlimited national emergency" existed. Robert chuckled upon reading that since a month earlier he had been living in a country that had been living under such conditions for nearly three years.

Surrounding these tidbits were news stories that were deemed more important although Robert noted the irony in some of them. For example, Gary Cooper won the academy award for his title role in the Great War story Sergeant York. Joan Fontaine won for her role in Suspicion with Cary Grant. The best picture was a maudlin melodrama, How Green Was My Valley starring Walter Pidgeon and Maureen O’Hara. The year’s favorite recording was “Chattanooga Choo Choo” by Glenn Miller. Jimmy Dorsey’s orchestra scored hits with “Amapola” “Green Eyes” and “Maria Elena”. Benny Goodman kept his name on the charts with “There'll Be Some Changes Made.” The Andrews Sisters charted hits with “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” and “I'll Be with You in Apple Blossom Time.” Even the Freddy Martin Orchestra pushed into the top ten with the popular version of the “Piano Concerto in B Flat” retitled “Tonight We Love.”

Then, on June 9, Finland initiated a limited military mobilization and put some units under German command. But the big news that month came on June 22 when Germany attacked the Soviet Union in what would later be known by its code name, Operation Barbarossa.

“See, Bobby,” said his father with a laugh. “You kept saying that we were next in line. But this proves that this is a European war.”

“It’s coming, Dad. I’m telling you,” Robert insisted. “We’re already involved. Lend Lease is already in motion. Our shipping is getting hit each day we try sending goods to England.”

“Son, just because you were over there doesn’t mean that it’s coming back here with you.”

“But then why has the Army asked me to report to California next week?” Robert countered. “It’s just beginning. All it’s going to take is one big push from the Germans or the Japs and we’ll be in it up to our armpits!”

“They know better, son,” his father said trying for reassurance, but Robert was undeterred.

“Pop, it’s coming, sooner or later, we won’t have any choice. This will be a world war.”

“You don’t have to go, do you son?” his father asked. “You’ve got a lot going for you now. Worthing tells me that you’ve been seeing Helen nearly every day. Even if war comes, our factories would be right in the middle of the war work. You would be safe here and have a lovely woman by your side. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yes, Pop,” Robert said begrudgingly. “It’s hard to explain, but I feel this sense of duty, that as long as I have my wits and my reactions, I have to do something that can’t be accomplished from behind a desk.”

The elder Wilson shook his head sadly. Three days later, Garner held a party for Robert at the Wilson home in Gates Mill. There were old friends from high school and college, a few select family members, and of course, Helen Worthing. The liquor flowed freely and the food was served from a buffet set up on the lawn. Garner had tried to hire a band, but had to settle for setting up the RCA Victor on the veranda. As the latest from Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman and Artie Shaw carried the day, the kids paired up and danced happily. Helen did a good job of putting on a happy face though her spirit was saddened by the prospect of Bobby leaving.

“I’m going to miss you, Bobby,” was the only sad comment she allowed herself and she punctuated it with a strong hug as they danced to a Harry James ballad.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replied. “But we can always write. Maybe you can take the train out to visit me before school starts in the fall.”

“I’d like that,” Helen said, and then rested her head on his shoulder.

Late that afternoon, when things were starting to wind down, Robert was returning from the restroom when his mother stopped him.

“Bobby, this came for you this today,” she said holding out a small letter. “Looks like it’s been through the war single-handed,” his mother remarked.

Robert recognized the stationary and the elegant cursive handwriting and his hand began to shake when he took hold of it. His fingers pulled the letter open and he began to read. It was a cheerful note dated May 10 from Elizabeth. She wrote about going home to Norfolk and seeing her parents. She wrote of missing him and hoping that her letter would find him safe and well.

… And most of all Darling, I think of you every day, and wish the best for you!

All my love,
Elizabeth

After all these weeks, he was finally reminded of his dear Elizabeth by her sweet little letter that was over a month old and had been forwarded a half dozen times. He thought of the girl waiting for him out on the veranda and balanced it with his memories of Elizabeth, the lovely Mrs. Fitz. He walked back toward the veranda where they were arguing over which song to play next.

“Now, now,” Garner said loudly. “She is the girl friend and she gets to pick.”

“I want to play this one,” Helen said and handed the large black disk to Garner who cued it up. Her face lit up when she saw Robert emerge from the house. She ran over to him and took his hands. “Come on, Bobby, one last dance with me?” she pleaded.

Matter of factly, Robert took her into his arms. When the sound of the music began to play, it sounded familiar. The Tommy Dorsey Orchestra certainly, and then the tune struck him. Just as the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra’s voice began to sing, “I’ll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces …” Robert withdrew his arms from Helen and walked quickly over to the RCA, yanked the tone arm off the record with a screech, picked up the record and smashed it into a million pieces. He then turned on his heel and headed for the garage.

“What gives?” Garner asked, befuddled by his friend’s curt exit.

“I have to go,” Robert told the few startled people who were left.

“Come on, Bobby, let’s pick a different song then,” Helen pleaded as she reached for his arm in a vain attempt to lure him back to the party.

“I have to go, Helen,” Robert said, brushing her hand away from his arm.

“When will you be back?” she asked, her face quickly dissolving to tears.

Robert didn’t answer but simply disappeared into the garage as the remaining guests looked at each other in shock.

“What came over him?” someone asked.

“Don’t know,” Garner said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t have a single clue.”

Shortly the sound of Robert’s Packard roadster roaring down the driveway echoed back to veranda signaling the end of the party.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

The spring of 1941 turned into summer, then into early autumn. For the British people this was a time they stood alone facing the enemy across the channel. Yet not totally alone; men from Australia, New Zealand, Canada, South Africa India and all the other counties of the British Empire fought on land, sea and air in far off places and in ships and aircraft. But it was a bitter fight.

A year of many losses and few gains, but the seeds of the future of what would be were being planted.

The bomber that was to be the backbone of the British assault on Germany, the Lancaster, was already designed and would that year go into full production.

Bletchley Park and its team of boffins were working on cracking the codes of the German high command and would in this cause invent a strange machine to help them. It was the world's first programmable computer

A thin, man with a beak of a nose was given command of 5th Corps in Britain. In 1941 he was assigned to a key post in the defence against a possible German invasion. His name was Montgomery. He was the following year assigned to the desert campaign and began an offensive that many believed was a turning point.

But for now the British people grinned and bore it. Or rather gritted their teeth and bore the horrors of the continued, sporadic blitz. The lost of the pride of the British navy, the Hood. Though this lost was tempered by the knowledge of the destruction of the Bismarck. Many men lost their lives in the horror that was Crete. The German blockade and siege of Malta, the linchpin in the ship routes to the Middle East began.

The war in the desert entered a new stage. Rommel, with the rank of lieutenant general was given command of the German troops in Libya. He began his brilliant campaign that drove the British back to a place called El Alamein.

The U boats ruled the Atlantic and the escort vessels of the convoys fought hard to get their charges into port. Also with the entrance of Russia into the war, after the Operation Barbarossa tore into Poland and Russia itself, convoys of precious guns, aircraft and tanks began to be taken on the notoriously dangerous Arctic convoys.

On the home front the people of Britain made do and mended, dug for victory and collected newspapers and saucepans for recycling. They listened to workers’ playtime on the BBC. Laughed at George Formby’s suggestive songs while watching him at the pictures. They knew Vera Lynn was the forces sweetheart and her songs, like the White Cliffs of Dover reminded men of home. Powell and Pressburger began to make a number of films that were to stand the test of time. In 1941 they released Forty Ninth Parallel.

For Elizabeth the same time passed, yet it was a strange, painful waking dream. She was cocooned at Maisthorpe Manor, her childhood home, some twenty miles south east of Norwich in Norfolk. The village and Manor house were the same as she remembered them yet not the same. The war touched here as well. Young men no longer worked the land. Girls of the land army, three of which billeted at the Manor, did the job. From assorted backgrounds, some never being on a farm in their life, they did the impossible and harvested wheat, barely and oats. Picked apples, pears, potatoes and cabbage. More acreage was under the plough in 1941 than ever before and the ministry of food intended to have more in the following year.

Elizabeth did not “bloom” with her pregnancy. Never large, she became thinner. A bump with huge green eyes, her step father Dr Martin Travis called her in jest. But he did not hide his concern for Elizabeth from her mother, his wife, Gwyneth.

Both worried.

Elizabeth herself swung from bitter anger to painful despair, through to being lost in her memories and still convinced of Bobby’s love. She railed at herself. Body bloated, unable to bend, it felt like a broom handle had been shoved down her spine. Her belly hit her thighs as she walked upstairs and she was out of breath by the first landing. Sick at three months, sicker at eight. No glowing cheeks and fullness of hair. Pale with lank tresses no matter what she did.

As for writing to Bobby.

There was never a next time. Or at least the letter, informing Bobby of his child was never posted. It lay at the bottom of one of Elizabeth’s drawers in her dressing table. Along with a crinkled envelope of photographs and other scraps of painful memories including the necklace Bobby had given her Christmas 1940.

Elizabeth had a good reason not too as she told Hattie at the beginning of September 1941.

The two old friends were sitting in the garden of the Manor; it was warm early autumn day, like those a year previous. A year ago. A year since she had first met Bobby. Nearly a year since they became lovers. Nine months since her child was conceived in the snows of Yorkshire.

The bitterness welled up in Elizabeth as she watched Hatte’s daughter struggle to her feet and giggle.

“I haven’t told him.” Elizabeth blurted out her hand pressing onto the mound of her child.

“Oh…” Hattie said and clucked her tongue at her daughter as the child smiled and wobbled.

“He never replied to me… I understand…So it was better not too. For the best. For him. For me... It was wonderful but it is over now.”

"Is it?”

Then it poured out, the logic, the anger, the loneliness. “He did love me. I know he did. But…but… it was here in my world. America is not here. He went home. Had too it was the right thing to do. I wanted him to stay, but it wasn’t right. Things were different once he got there, he forgot. Men do… they forget and move on… So he” Elizabeth used the word he, she could not bring herself to use Bobby. “Has continued his life, I will mine. I have this…” Elizabeth patted her stomach. “Not its fault, never its. Mine I suppose for allowing, for being a little fool. For being in love.”

“Maybe… one day....” Hattie ventured.

“No not again, won’t go through that again with any man. Not worth it, yes it was worth it, every minute, but it is over, for me… I have to think of… Hell!!!” Elizabeth swore, gasped for breath then felt a sick shudder in the base of her abdomen.

“You alright?” Hattie asked getrting up and coming to her firend's side.

“No...” Elizabeth tried to heave herself out of her garden seat and felt a trickle then a torrent flood down between her legs.

Twenty four hours later a relieved Dr Travis laid a small bundle in the arms of Elizabeth. She had been racked by pain far worse than she could have imagined. She had screamed and felt herself split in two. Elizabeth cursed herself, Bobby, the war, the world. She was exhausted, could not even look at the child. Her arms could not even hold the babe. Martin removed the child and looked at his wife, his relief again banished by concern for the young woman before him.

Elizabeth at this moment felt all the hurt and pain, the abandonment that she could before reason away with logic and accept. But now she could not. She tried to curl her racked body into a ball and mentally turn her face to the wall and just stop.

“Don’t you dare my girl,” Elizabeth’s mother, Gwyneth, said as she wiped Elizabeth’s face. “Not just you now…” Gwyneth undid the laces on Elizabeth’s nightgown and pulled out her right breast, then took her grandchild from Martin and held the baby to Elizabeth’s exposed nipple. The small rosebud mouth closed round the thing it needed to survive and two blue eyes looked questioningly into Elizabeth’s. She shuddered, sobbed and closed her arms round her son.

It was one year to the day since a game of bar skittles in a Pub in the south of England. In what was, a different world and a more innocent time.

 

[Miltone]

Robert “Bobby” Wilson

The months seemed to fly past for Robert. He left Gates Mill in late June and drove his Packard roadster the entire way down to Randolph Field in Texas where he was assigned to instruct beardless young men of 20 years of age how to battle the enemy in the air. He threw himself into his work each day and began to drink himself to sleep each night. When joining his fellow flight instructors at the Mesa Tejano Ranch a few miles south on US 90, Robert would make it only as far as the bar, and developed quite a taste for gold tequila.

It was on a Friday night in late July, on his birthday, that even the tequila and lime couldn’t slake Robert’s thirst. It had been nearly 100 degrees during the day and by midnight it was still mid-eighties. Sammy “The Snatch” Binghamton settled down beside Robert at the bar, reeking of cheap drink and rancid sex.

“Scho tell me Bobby, how long hassh it been for ya?” Sammy asked, his words slurring from a heavy night of boozing, and his meaty hand slapping Robert on the back.

“How long?” Robert said, sober enough to know what his friend was saying, but too drunk to put together more that a couple of words. “For what?”

“How long hassh it been schince you dipped the old wick … you know, schlammed the ham, porked the pickle … you know?”

“That?” Robert said with a drunken chuckle. “A couple months since I left home.”

“Well, scheeing that you’re the birthday boy,” The Snatch drawled, “The fellas and I thought that we schould put our pennies together and get you a little entertainment for the night.”

“That’s all right,” Robert said, brushing off his comrade’s offer.

“What’s the matter? Have trouble getting it up or what?”

“That’s never been a problem,” Robert proclaimed. “Just not tonight, ok?”

“Bobby, we ain’t taking ‘no’ for an anscheer,” slurred The Snatch. “Come on, you owe it to our unit … we have a reputation to uphold.”

Despite his best efforts, Robert was pushed and pulled and prodded and dragged up the stairs and escorted drunkenly to the “honeymoon” suite, a raucously decorated room. He was pushed unceremoniously into the room with a final word of encouragement from The Snatch, “Go fuck her, tiger!”

Robert tottered through the doorway as the room came into focus. Too much garish red wallpaper and gaudy satin drapes. On the overstuffed bed reclined a rather fleshy woman, though not particularly unattractive, at least in Robert’s drunken stupor. Her plump pale body overflowed her white bustier, her prodigious bosoms spilled out the top, and her hairy snatch was spread wide for all the world to see. When the room began to spin, Robert felt his way to a chair. He knew this was a mistake, but his comrades had spent their money so he had no choice but to at least use up the time in some way.

“What’s a matter, big boy?” the woman called out coarsely, her voice thick from years of cigarette smoking. “Does mommy have to help her little fella?”

She rose up from the bed and approached him slowly, her thick body wiggling as she moved. Robert looked up at her; she actually had a pretty face and lovely light blue eyes. And bright red hair, even that between her legs was a glowingly bright shade of red that contrasted with her pale skin. She stood close to him and leaned forward, grasping his head and pulling him toward her, burying his face between her huge breasts. Her skin was hot and moist and smelled badly of cheap perfume.

“I know what you want, sonny,” she said, backing away and taking his hand. Just as his buddies had towed him up the stairs, so did the plump prostitute yank him toward the overstuffed bed. “Now come to me, baby, and let me see just what you have.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Robert toward her by the belt. He quickly felt a rush of cool air and she lowered his trousers and tugged down his shorts. Her clammy hands made their way over his thighs and belly before taking hold of his manhood.

“Oh, there’s a lucky young lady somewhere in this world,” she chuckled as her fingers coiled around his member. “Mmm, this is a beautiful dick that you have, baby. And it’s been a while for you hasn’t it?” She laughed after the last comment and then took him into her mouth noisily.

He clutched at the woman’s hair, not so much because what she was doing felt so good, but because the room was swirling around him and he was trying to hang onto whatever consciousness he could grasp.

“Oh, this is very nice,” the woman cooed in her thick husky voice. “Pretty impressive for a drunken flyboy from Randolph.”

She soon had eased her plump body back onto the bed and had pulled Robert on top of her, guiding him toward her furry mound. Placing him at her entrance she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, burying his face in the mound of flesh that was her shoulder.

“Come on, big boy, you can do this,” she urged. “Just one little shove and you’ll feel lots better.”

Robert shoved and she thrust and the bed groaned and squeaked loudly. Inside of a minute or two, the room still would not stop spinning and Robert tried to raise his head up and gasp for a rare breath of fresh air.

“You’re not going anywhere yet, baby,” she said, clutching him to her prodigious bosom. “Come on, make Momma happy.”

Between the tequila and the stale humid air, the cheap perfume and the moist flesh muffling his nose, Robert struggled to push himself up, but her grasp was too strong. Her hands grabbed at his ass and pulled him tightly against her fleshy body.

“No … wait … hold on,” Robert said struggling to raise himself from the whore. Then it hit him, a strong convulsive sensation that began deep in his gut and didn’t stop until he had heaved the contents of his stomach all over the woman and the bed and the floor. She pushed him violently away from her and put her hand to her mouth.

“What the fuck?” she swore as he tumbled to the floor, his face and shirt covered in his own puke. “I’ve had ‘em pass out on me, but never this!” She pulled him roughly to his feet and hurtled him toward the door. He stumbled with his trousers and shorts still around his ankles, yet his raging hard-on still protruded forward proudly. “Look at the stinkin’ mess you’ve made! It’ll take all night to get rid of the smell! For God’s sake!”

Robert struggled to raise his trousers. The woman opened the door and flung him out into the hall where The Snatch and a couple others caught him.

“Fer Chrissakes!” Sammy cried out, stifling his own urge to heave. They beat a hasty retreat from the second floor. It wasn’t until Robert was sprawled across the back seat of Flanigan’s Oldsmobile convertible that he began to feel anything close to normal. “Damn! There’s another whorehouse that won’t let us inside again!” he laughed as Flanigan wheeled them off into the night.

* * * * *

By September, Robert had received his full commission as Army Air Corps Captain. It was deemed that his combat experience was more needed at the advanced pursuit training school located at Rogers Dry Lake facility in Mohave, California. The move was made worthwhile when Robert was introduced to his first P38 Lockheed Lightning, the sexiest plane of which he had ever grasped the throttle. The dual engines gave it great power, airspeed, and climbing ability. How much he wished he could have had one of these when serving in England.

By November, Robert had become fully established at Rogers, directing his classes on air-to-air gunnery and tactics. One day late in the month, he returned from the flight line to his billet that he shared with Malcom “Madman” McDonald. He had taken the short cut from the base in his Packard and strode in through the back way, Madman waved at him and pointed toward the front door.

“There’s somebody waiting for you,” Madman said with a wry smile.

Robert furrowed his brow and went to the door. Sitting on a stack of large suitcases was Helen Worthing, dressed smartly in a light suit, her long legs crossed, and her hair up, tucked attractively underneath a cute little hat. Her hands were clasped together on her knee and a delightful grin curved her mouth.

“Helen! What are you doing here?” Robert asked, very much surprised to see her.

“I’ve missed you, Bobby,” she said standing up and holding out her arms. “Well?”

Robert paused for a moment.

“Well, aren’t you going to welcome me?”

Robert took a few steps forward and brought her into his arms. Helen planted a long wet kiss on his lips and pressed her tall trim body against him. She hummed as they kissed and raked her fingernails through the hair on the back of his neck.

“Mmm, I have missed you so much, Bobby,” she said sultrily when their kiss broke away.

“But what brings you here?” Robert asked. “I mean California is a long way from Ohio.”

“The train silly,” Helen replied. “Besides I decided that I should see something of the world and your mother showed me the letters that you had written and I just knew that I wanted to surprise you with a visit.”

“Well, this is a surprise,” Robert said, holding her in his arms and looking into her dewy complexion and bright eyes. “But you can’t stay here … this is only for service personnel.”

“Oh, I know all that,” she said, matter of factly, her large eyes locked on his. “I’ve arranged for a room nearby … a rather large room … with a private bath … and a double bed.”

“Um, well, I see,” Robert remarked. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“You don’t sound too happy, Bobby,” Helen replied sadly. “What’s the matter? You already found another girlfriend?”

“No, actually,” Robert said sheepishly. “You know how I am around girls.”

“I know how you can be around girls, Bobby,” she remarked. “Remember that night down by the lake? Remember that weekend my parents were away? Remember that time we drove to Sandusky for the day?”

“So what are you suggesting, Helen?”

“Nothing … not one thing,” she answered, then pulled him tightly to her for another kiss, not a gentle brushing of the lips but a deep hot kiss that stirred him deep inside.

They spent the following weekend together, touring the area in his Packard. The following weekend, they drove up into the mountains. The week after, they drove out to the coast. Next, they spent an entire weekend together in her place, getting dressed only when they had to leave the room, cooking and eating and making love and doing little else. It got so that Madman began to ask if he could sublet Robert’s bunk to pick up a little extra change.

The first weekend in December, there was a gala party for some visiting brass and every officer was invited and expected to attend. Early that Saturday evening, Robert was getting dressed while Helen was in the bath. He buttoned his white starched dress shirt and folded the cuffs. He fumbled through his jewelry box and pulled out a set of cuff links. For a moment without thinking he flipped one open and pushed it through the opening in his cuff. It was only when he closed it and adjusted it that he realized that they were the pair that Elizabeth Fitzmorgan had given him last Christmas. A simple silver pair of cufflinks with an engraved moon. Fingering the piece for a moment brought back such memories.

He could remember that Christmas morning with her, their getaway together, the necklace he had given her dangling from her neck, the cufflinks, the closeness, the intimacy, and the incredible sex! Now here, nearly a year later, with the temperature still warm and balmy by his normal December standards, Robert felt that he was on the threshold of an entirely new life. A year ago everything seemed so unsure, and each day seemed to bring a new and different challenge, something that taxed his ability to manage. But now, he felt in charge of things. He was running the class, he was leading the student pilots into the air, showing them how to do things, how to think, how to react.

Yet for a moment, he thought of Elizabeth … and remembered everything. Being stranded alone at Tangmere when Garner had been shipped back home. The officer’s club … George’s offer of friendship … poor, late George … the game of Skittles … and Elizabeth … what had become of her? He had written numerous times … well, maybe not all that much. But she had never written back. He remembered the letters, how he had poured out his heart to her, professing his undying love for her, how he had pledged to return to her someday, someway, somehow … but he had never heard back from her. Maybe some dashing Brit pilot from the 607th had captured her fancy by now and he was relegated to be a dim memory and long forgotten.

He thought of his last letters, how he had carefully and uncomfortably written them out in his hesitant longhand, struggling to put his feelings into words and thinking up an original signature line. He remembered how he had folded each one up and addressed it to her personally, how he had licked the stamp and glued it to the letter, and how he had walked it to the mailbox or post office to make sure that it was posted. But once it left his hands, he could only picture it as being delivered to Elizabeth somewhere in England.

Robert couldn’t imagine the postal employee gathering up the mail and lugging it to the sorting room. Nor did he bother to think of the sorting process, some by hand, some by machine, and how his letter, nestled in a canvas bag, was trucked halfway across the county to the shipping dock and lugged aboard a steamer bound for England. Nor could he imagine the path the steamer had to take, dodging the U-Boats, following the vague but urgent messages concerning shipping lanes and convoy protocol. And Robert had no idea of the cocky U-Boat commander lining up that freighter in his periscope, marking the range, and calling out the order to fire torpedoes, which scurried through the chill waters of the North Atlantic and connected so well with their target that is sent the ship, its crew, and it’s precious cargo to the bottom of the Atlantic.

No, this night all Robert could think of was his own cruel sadness over a lost love. He took a deep breath, glanced at the lovely cufflinks and smiled. Somewhere in the world, Elizabeth is with her new man, he thought assuredly. Somehow she has moved on to her new life with someone else. Why shouldn’t he wear these links? They were handsome. They were the only thing he had left of her that had any permanence. Then he heard the water shut off in the bath and pictured Helen, tall and naked and wet, toweling herself off, and he smiled. This was his new life and he was ready to live it.

Robert grabbed his tie and began to knot it. Never one for being well practiced at such things, he had to attempt the knot three times before it came out looking acceptable. He looked himself over in the mirror. His stocky frame had filled back out since he had returned home. His dark hair had that distinguished curl to it, his eyes that certain sparkle that hadn’t been seen in nearly a year. Then the door opened and Helen emerged wrapped in only a plush towel from her arms to her hips. Robert greeted her and embraced her, his kiss dense and penetrating, his hands urgent and insistent as they fondled her body and loosened her towel until it fell to the floor, his body quick to respond.

“But, Bobby!” Helen giggled. “We’re already late! We can’t afford to be later!”

Sighing, Robert agreed and sat back to watch as Helen dressed. Perhaps because she knew he was watching or for some other reason, Helen took her time while sitting naked at the dressing table applying her perfume, rouge, and mascara. With an anticipatory grin, Robert watched as she slipped on her stockings, her garter, her bra and panties, all made from the finest silk and lace. Then there was the dress, certainly taken from one of her New York pilgrimages to Sak’s Fifth Avenue. Sheer and light and festive, it clung to her like a glove, sculpting each curve and nuance of her body.

They were the darlings of the party. All of the other officers were green with envy and all of their wives fawned over Helen and Robert as well. They danced, they drank and ate, and they danced some more. And when the gala was over, they found their way back to Robert’s Packard roadster and managed to get back to her cute little apartment before manhandling each other. It was nigh unto four in the morning when Robert fell asleep beside the already sweetly snoring Helen, his body damp with love and his mind full of it.

It was well after noon when they awoke. Still groggy, Robert stumbled into the kitchenette to start a pot of coffee. As was his habit, he switched on the radio and let it warm up as he poured out the grounds. By the time he was drawing the water to fill the pot, the hourly news from the NBC Blue network crackled through.

“Reports are just filtering in … Wait! This just in, the battleship Arizona is reported hit and foundering … repeat, the battleship Arizona has been struck … to recap our leading story … Japanese air power is reported to have struck the naval forces anchored at Pearl Harbor while everyone was at breakfast or in services … we don’t know casualties or losses at this point … details are sketchy … but I repeat, Japanese force have struck at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii … smoke is filling the bay and losses are considerable …”

Robert slammed his hand down hard onto the cold tile counter. Damn! He had known it all along. He had predicted it for the past six months. The war had come home to America and he prayed that his country was ready for it. Would they be willing to accept their duty and sacrifice as readily as those he had seen in England the year before? He knew … he just knew that he would heading back there, perhaps sooner than he had expected. But for this day, he tried to brush those thoughts to the back of his mind, and concentrate on the tall lean lovely woman who beckoned him from the bedroom. And as he fell into her arms and they made love long and slow and lovingly throughout the afternoon, Robert tried to forestall the inevitable and block it from his mind. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon in early December on the Mohave desert and he knew that the Monday he woke up to would dawn in a completely different light.

 

[Why]

Elizabeth Fitzmorgan

The birth of her son marked the beginning of what Elizabeth would later call “her personal war” Not that the war up to then had not been personal, she had lost her husband George. Then lost the only man, Bobby, if she was honest with herself she loved with every fabric of her being. Not that Elizabeth had not loved George, she had, but not in the wild, total way she had loved her son’s father.

And the war had been a creature that had swept her along, dazed, confused, clinging to her old life; while desperately hoping the man she had loved would come through alive. Even her work as a VAD had not placed her in a position where she was doing something, being someone.

Her son’s coming into her life was a re-birth for Elizabeth. She had something to fight for now, a small bundle that relied on her. As the realisation of this sank in it opened Elizabeth’s eyes to things she had not noticed nor wished to notice.

Elizabeth got herself out of bed only five days after her son’s birth, much to her mother’s annoyance. Gwyneth caught her daughter paddling barefoot down the passage to the bathroom.

“Where do you think you are going young woman?” Gwyneth asked tapping her foot.

“The bathroom, I need to go and if there is any hot water… a bath would be nice.” Elizabeth said and shrugged the bed jacket up her shoulders.

“I don’t think so… back to bed I will get a bowl and you can use the…you are supposed to spend at least ten days in bed after you know…”

“I am fed up of using the “goes-under” mother, and I long for a bath and who says it has to be ten days.” Elizabeth stood with her hands on her hips, her green eyes narrowed.

“Indeed…” Gwyneth replied. “Alright, but I am keeping you company just in case.” Elizabeth’s mother said as she smiled and walked to her daughter’s side, taking Elizabeth’s arm.

Gwyneth ran Elizabeth’s bath and washed her hair as if she was a child. They talked about the Manor, the village and surrounding countryside and the affect of the war on all.

“Each day I receive more letters from the ministry of food. You know how I am with paperwork, never seem to find anything I could paper a room with them. All the farms are snowed under with them milk quotas, how many pigs, hens… you don’t feel as if you own anything, why at out last meeting, Joan Morris, you know Joan; her husband is in the 8th army compained about the need to actually in form themm of how many piglets your sows had borne.” Gwyneth sighed.

“Yes I remember Joan and you have meetings?” Elizabeth said as she soaped her body. Her breasts were swollen and tender, lined with veins; even looked a bit ugly.

“Don’t worry; they will go down once young master Robert George has settled down to feeding. And yes we have meetings once a week in the ladies lounge of the Master’s Arms. Ted Roach moans about that he would prefer the bar, but some of the women, like Joan feel uncomfortable in crowd of men.”

Elizabeth smiled at her mother’s words; she had been used to being in the middle of a gaggle of airman every time she had been in a Pub.

“So that’s were you vanish every Thursday night.” Elizabeth winced she had never before bothered to ask. Elizabeth stood and began to rinse the soap suds off her stomach and thighs. “I look like a half deflated balloon with wrinkles.” She patted her stomach and as her fingers lingered on her tummy. Elizabeth wondered what Bobby would have thought, would he have found her attractive? Not that it mattered now; he was gone from her life.

Yet Bobby still lingered in her mind and dreams. Last night the dreams had been so vivid. The feel of his shaft in her mouth, the texture of the head as she ran her tongue over it exploring, tasting. The firm grip of his hand on hers as she held his length, as she worked her mouth up and down. The wetness of her mouth, the saliva gushing. The way she was aware of Bobby’s quickening breath, the tensing of his stomach muscles. The splash of his seed against the roof of her mouth and his ragged words of love. Was this normal for a woman who had just given birth to dream so? Perhaps, Elizabeth did not know, but she knew the dream had left her with a desire for what was gone and had driven her to get up and take a bath.

“Exercise will sort that out.” Gwyneth remarked as she stood up, from where she had been sitting on the side of the bath and handled her daughter a towel. “As I was saying, this paper work and the meetings, will you give me a hand? I have to look after and feed Polly, Christine and Mavis as well as taking phone calls for Martin’s practice.”

“Who? Oh the land girls,” Elizabeth blushed now, she knew the girls lived at the Manor in the small east wing, even been told there names. Had she been so wrapped up in her pain, her cocoon of loss? “And what exercise?”

“Yes the land girls and you could start riding again. It won’t do master Robert George to make do with a glass bottle full now and then. You could ride over to the other farms; keep in touch about this mountain of regulations and papers we have to deal with. Some haven’t got phones and Martin only has a limited supply of petrol and can’t keep popping in for us.”

“Riding!" Elizabeth exclaimed as she slipped on her gown and pulled the plug out of bath. “It was “riding” that got me here in the first place,” she muttered half under her breath, then realised her mother was still in the room.

“Regrets?” Gwyneth asked and placed her arm on Elizabeth’s shoulder. Elizabeth sobbed and turned into her mother’s arms.

“Yes… no….but.” Elizabeth sobbed.

“I know.” Gwyneth said.

And as the autumn turned into winter Elizabeth began to realise how much her mother had known. The suggestion that she, Elizabeth should help with the administration of the Manor and join the small farmer’s meetings was Gwyneth’s way of stopping Elizabeth retreating into herself again. This and caring for her son, kept Elizabeth busy.

The first time she rode again Elizabeth came back with aching arms, stiff thighs and a sore bottom. But it was not long before she was enjoying the rides. The odd gallop, the taking of a hedge, brought a flush to face and toned her body. She even gained a little weight and her bosom to her surprise did not go down. For the first time in her life Elizabeth had gained “ample assets” as Hattie called them.

Elizabeth also found time for another small job, the parish council, on which her step father Dr Travis presided needed a secretary to take the minutes of the meeting.

This brought in a round about way other young mothers into Elizabeth’s life. Part of the parish council’s job was to keep an eye on the evacuee children in the area. Some children were lucky and found homes equal or better than their own and were loved and cared for. Others were not so lucky; they were abused and used as cheap labour.

The parish council if it became aware of such arranged to move the children. One place in the village became a sort of holding house for such children, some even staying. It was a large Georgian house, the owners in the Far East, so it had been rented out to a group of mothers with babies and other small children who had evacuated themselves in late 1940 from the Birmingham area. The women, eight of them, worked shifts in one of the munitions factories on the edge of Norwich. The company bus trundled through the village in the early morning and evening picking up its workers.


For in March 1941 all women between the age 18 and 60 had to register for work in fact by 1943 it was to prove impossible for a woman under 40 to avoid work of some kind, such was the shortage of men. Elizabeth by taking on the administration of the farm and her work in the parish had brought herself into the world of working women.

Elizabeth found she, and young Robert George, spent time here most Sundays and the odd snatched hour in the week. It was a hubbub of children and young women, though from different classes, all shared the same plight in many respects. No men in their lives. Some had lost their mates in the bombing or killed on active service. Some had men serving and two were like Elizabeth.

So by the beginning of December the war raged round Elizabeth, while she had begun her own personal war to protect the small world around her and her son and to help it survive for him to know.

The events of the 7th of December brought the outer war raging into Elizabeth’s personal one. America in the war. Elizabeth wondered how Bobby was feeling, what he was doing? She knew he would soon place himself in the front line again. She knew he would not thing otherwise. She said a small prayer asking God to keep him safe, where ever he was. Most likely the Pacific she thought as the following days brought the news of the Japanese invasions of Malaya, Burma and Thailand the sinking of the Prince of Wales and the Repulse in the seas off the Philippines. Then on Christmas day Hong Kong falling.

The war was a world one now. And it was coming to Norfolk in a big way.

In late January during one of her rides Elizabeth noticed surveyors on Manor land. On her return to the Manor itself she found out that theirs was not the only land being measured out by the ministry of works. Five others farms in a fifteen mile radius were being surveyed.

A meeting in Norwich had been arranged by the ministry next week, where the outline “facts” of the measurements would be put to all the farmers in the areas affected through out the county. Gwyneth wanted Elizabeth to go in her stead. Elizabeth held her son and wondered.