Abandoned wartime airfields, in quiet and lonely rural locations, retain a haunting sense of the past. Today the roar of bombers has been replaced by birdsong, and the concrete runways by harvest fields of waving corn, but many of the perimeter roads and buildings still exist today, in some shape or form. These sites don’t just provide moments of quiet reflection for countryside wayfarers but opportunities for writers to indulge their imaginations in wartime nostalgia, imagining exciting young lives filled with romance and conflict, love and tragedy. At the end of the war the airfields were abandoned and slowly given back to nature but for many people the dramas that had played out, lived on.
The story is told through Isabel who dreams of her childhood in rural Suffolk, where 'she had woken night after night to the thunder of Lancasters overhead as they took off from the airfield. The noise seemed to go on for hours before the last of the aircraft throbbed beyond her hearing.'
“They came over so low and heavy that it seemed they must lose their grip on the air and plunge down, loaded with bombs, onto the sleeping village. She stared up at the belly of the aircraft that was passing over, and then she could see through metal, too, and there were the men, the pilot like a coal hever at the controls, the flight engineer alongside him helping to push the throttles forward to get the laden beast into the night sky.”
During WW2 in excess of 400 new airfields were constructed, mainly in Eastern England, and at the height of the bombing campaign against Nazi Germany in 1942, a new airfield was opening every three days. These ‘aerodromes’ appeared like mushrooms overnight and within a matter of a few weeks as many as three thousand people, service personnel and civilian, had moved in. The air crews lived in very basic accommodation blocks and Nissen huts, and civilians were employed in the medical centres, parachute stores, mess halls and canteens, and ground crew and engineers in the workshops and hangars. Life on these airfields was hectic and adrenaline-fuelled, tense and nerve wracking for crews and dramatically exciting for the young people thrown together, determined to celebrate life whilst confronting the terrifying prospect of horrific death.
“The Greatcoat” is an absorbing story that so closely resembles my Mother’s own tragic experience of love and loss, and her bitter-sweet wartime romance, and a short lived marriage to an RAF airman, that I read the story in one sitting. And I have returned to it many times since, as the writing left such a deep powerful imprint. Helen Dunmore, who sadly died last year, was a master at recapturing the spirit of time and place and in this short novella she brilliantly evokes the nightmare of combat, seen largely through the eyes of the young women the aircrews left behind.
Being of the same age as the writer I understood from where this novel sprang. My parents had lived through World War Two and my grandparents World War One, so her childhood, like mine, reverberated with tales told by parents, friends and neighbours, all vivid memories, some utterly traumatic, of their own recent wartime experiences.
The setting is a wartime airfield in the East Riding of Yorkshire, where Alec, pilot officer of Lancaster, K-Katie and his crew are preparing for bombing mission number 27, which would leave just three remaining ‘sorties’ to complete their ‘tour of duty.’ Lancaster bomber crews had shorter life expectancy than almost any other servicemen, and Alec knew the stats were stacking against them. They had barely survived a previous perilous mission to Berlin, and now, in the final hours after briefing, Alec is doing all that he can to avoid dwelling on the mission ahead, knowing full well his flight path takes him along a treacherous route across Nazi Occupied Europe on the way to the target, Berlin, that will see him engulfed in a vortex of searchlights and anti-aircraft fire as they reach the Dutch coast with the threat of attack by Luftwaffe night-fighters along the way.
Once more Alec would be at the controls, and again he would have the lives of his other six crewmen in his hands. They were lucky to get this far. At the back of the plane his rear gunner had a life expectancy of forty hours, (which was about five sorties), while the bomb aimer, who lay prostrate in the Perspex nose blister, possibly had it even worse, not only being the most vulnerable and exposed to enemy ack-ack fire but also being traumatised by seeing the full horror of the in-coming flak, and the flames as other planes in the bomber stream were shot down, or exploded in mid air. The closer the crew came to the completion of their ‘tour’ so the more nervous and apprehensive they became, and the author captures the tension of the crew confronting these unpalatable hard facts.
This atmospheric novel is set in 1952, at a time when rationing was still in force, houses were cold and poorly heated by inadequate coal fires, and bedroom windows were iced over in the morning, and beds, damp to the touch, were covered in blankets and coats to provide extra warmth. Newly weds, Philip and Isabel Carey arrive in the Yorkshire village. Philp is an impressive hardworking young doctor who has joined the local practice, and in his methodical way gets straight down to work, and doesn’t notice that his young wife feels neglected and increasingly marginalised. The harder she tries to ‘fit in’ and get things right the more lonely she feels as the weight of expectation of a newly married woman bears down upon her.
Isabel had grown up, a lonely only child, brought up by her aunt as her parents had disappeared from Singapore to perish in a Japanese concentration camp. She had been an academic pupil, living in rural Suffolk and had lived through the war and remembers well the sight and sound, and the smell of aviation fuel on the air as the squadrons of bombers took off on their night time missions,
“She put her hands on the cold sill, ready to draw her head back inside, but a sound arrested her: a vibration, very far off, chafing the air. She listened for a long time but the sound wouldn’t come any closer and wouldn’t define itself. As it faded it pulled at her teasingly, like a memory that she couldn’t touch, until the town was silent.”
When Isabel finds an airman’s old greatcoat in the cupboard she throws it over the bed to keep her warm and is soon fantasising about the airman who wore the garment. Everything in this lightly nuanced story is left to the reader’s imagination. For instance when Philip, finally accepts that his wife is justified in complaining about the cold he sets off for York to buy her an eiderdown, which was garishly decorated with roses. The reader can see Isabel is not impressed at all. This scene compounds what the reader has felt all along, that the newly weds are not compatible. The story reveals the doctor to be loyal, hard working and conscientious but he doesn’t understand his wife's loneliness or lack of fulfilment. She is struggling to accept her new identity as ‘doctor’s wife’ and her mind is soon wandering, imagining intimacy with the brave airman.
This story deals with the legacy of war and its traumatising effects, of love and loss, betrayal and recrimination, both during the war and in its aftermath.
I love Helen Dunmore's sense of time and place in all her novels, and her characters are lightly, but vividly drawn, like Isabel's all seeing all knowing Aunt Jean, 'who knew everything because she was on the parish council.'
Aunt Jean didn't suffer fools gladly and spoke with authority as she 'wrestled every bit of knowledge to herself, and gave it out sparingly, to those who deserved it.' But she is not a busy body at all, but a lady with a warm heart and compassion, and she shows understanding at the high spirited pranks and boisterous antics of the young servicemen who now swamped the locals in the village when enjoying their free time,
"Soon the village was full of airmen... there was only our and everyone went there shouting and singing, and spilling out into the summer darkness with beer mugs in their hands....Some people in the village grumbled about this invasion, but not Aunt Jean. Strict as she usually was, she had endless tolerance for these young men, and would take to task those who complained about heavy drinking, shadowy couples enlaced by the walls of the village hall, or a young flight lieutenant tearing through the village on his motorbike."
So many wonderful scenes are graphically drawn, black night skies and black painted four engined Lancasters lumbering down runways, moonlit airfields, flare paths lit by Aldis Lamps, steam engines noisily pulling out of stations, and much, much more... a wonderfully atmospheric read.