The Hidden Women: An inspirational novel of sisterhood and strength

I shrugged on my jacket, heaved my kitbag on to my shoulder, and headed through the double doors at the end of the corridor and out into the airfield. It was a glorious day, sunny and bright with a light wind. Perfect for flying. I paused by the door, raised my face to the sun and let it warm me for a moment.

The airfield was a hubbub of noise and activity. To my left a group of mechanics worked on a plane, shouting instructions to one another above the noise of the propellers. Ahead of me, a larger aircraft cruised slowly towards the runway, about to take off. It was what we called a taxi plane, taking other ATA pilots to factories where they’d pick up the aircraft they had to deliver that day.

My friend Flora was in the cockpit and she raised her arm to wave to me as she passed. I lifted my own hand and saluted her in return. A little way ahead, a truck revved its engine, and all around, people were calling to each other, shifting equipment and getting on with their tasks. I smiled. That was good. It was harder to organise things when it was quiet.

Glancing round, I saw Annie. She was loading some tarpaulins on to the back of a van. Casually I walked over to where she stood.

‘Morning,’ I said.

She nodded at me and hauled another of the folded tarpaulins up on to the van.

‘I’m going to Middlesbrough,’ I said, dropping my kitbag at my feet. I picked up one of the tarpaulins so if anyone looked over they’d see me helping, not chatting. ‘Finally.’

She nodded again.

‘I’ve left the address in your locker with my timings,’ I went on. ‘She’s waiting to hear from you so send the telegram as soon as I take off.’

‘Adoption?’ Annie said.

I nodded, my lips pinched together. ‘Older,’ I said. ‘Three kids already. Husband’s in France.’

Annie winced. ‘Poor cow.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Her mum’s helping.’

‘How far along is she?’

‘About seven months. She reckons she can’t hide it much longer. I’ve been waiting for one of us to be sent up there.’

Annie heaved the last tarpaulin on to the van.

‘Best get going then,’ she said.

I gave her a quick smile.

‘Thanks, Annie,’ I said.

A shout from across the airfield made me look round. ‘Lil!’

One of the engineers was waving to me from beside a small single-engine Fairchild.

‘Looks like mine,’ I said to Annie.

She gave my arm a brief squeeze. ‘It’s a good thing you’re doing here,’ she said.

‘You’re doing it too.’

Without looking back at her, I picked up my bag and ran over to the plane.

‘Am I flying this one?’ I said. We all took it in turns to fly the taxi planes, but I did it more often than some of the others; I loved it so much.

The engineer – a huge Welsh guy called Gareth who I was very fond of – patted the side of the plane lovingly.

‘You are,’ he said. ‘She’s a bit temperamental on the descent so take it easy.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Gareth,’ I said. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

I opened the cockpit door and flung my bag inside.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Take me through all the pre-flight checks.’

I’d been in the ATA for two years now, and I was cleared to fly every kind of plane – even the huge bombers that many people thought a woman couldn’t handle, but I never took anything for granted. I always went through checks with the engineers and did everything by the book. I liked feeling in control and I didn’t want to put my life in anyone else’s hands. Not again.

The taxi flights were quick – normally twenty minutes or so as we headed to the factories to pick up our planes. Today was the same. So it wasn’t long before we’d landed at South Marston, and I was ready to take off in the Spitfire I was delivering to Middlesbrough.

I climbed up into the plane and checked all the instruments, even though I’d flown hundreds of Spitfires and it was as familiar to me as the back of my own hand.

I loved flying. I loved feeling the plane doing what I asked it to do, and the freedom of swooping over the countryside. I’d spent two years hanging round the RAF base near where I lived in the Scottish borders before I joined up. I’d learned everything I could about flying, without actually piloting a plane myself. And then, as soon as I was old enough to sign up I’d applied to the ATA. I’d loved it straight away and I knew I was a good pilot. I’d raced through the ranks and completed my training on each category of plane faster than anyone else.

And yet every time I went on one of my ‘mercy missions’ as Flora called them, I was risking it all.

Putting all my worries aside, I focused on the plane. I watched the ground crew as they directed me out on to the runway, then thought only of the engine beneath me as I took off northwards.

Once I was up, I relaxed a bit, and took in the view. The day was so clear, I could see the towns and villages below. I imagined all the people going about their lives – hearing my engine and looking up to see me as I passed. Because it was a brand new plane, there was no radio, no navigation equipment – nothing. I liked the challenge that brought. It meant my brain was always kept active and I had no time to brood.

Middlesbrough was one of our longest flights and by the time I landed it was afternoon and the heat of the summer day was beginning to fade.

I slid out of the cockpit and headed to a man with a clipboard, who appeared to be in charge.

‘Spitfire,’ I said. ‘Made in South Marston.’

He nodded, without looking at me. ‘Where’s the pilot?’ he asked. ‘I need him to sign.’

‘I’m the pilot,’ I said, through gritted teeth. ‘Do you have a pen?’

Now the man did look up. He rolled his eyes as though I’d said something ridiculous and handed me a pen from his shirt pocket.

I scribbled my signature on the form he held out. ‘Is there a flight going back?’

‘Over there,’ he said, gesturing with his head to where a larger Anson sat on the runway. ‘But there are a few of you going. Be about an hour?’

I breathed out in relief. An hour was more than enough. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Can I grab a cuppa?’

He pointed his head in the other direction. I picked up my bag and went the way he’d indicated. But instead of going inside the mess hut, I slipped round the side of the building and out towards the main gate. I hoped the woman would be here – I didn’t want to risk missing my flight back; that would lead to all sorts of trouble.

‘Just going for some cigarettes,’ I told the bored man on the gate. He barely acknowledged me as I sauntered past and out on to the road. It was quiet with no passing traffic. Across the carriageway, a woman stood still, partly hidden by a tree. She was wearing a long coat, even though it was summer, and she was in her late thirties. Her hair was greying and she had a slump to her shoulders that made me sad. She looked at me and when I raised my hand in greeting, she smiled a cautious, nervous smile. Confident she was the person I was meant to meet, I ran across the road to her.

‘April?’ I said.