There was no need for radio silence now the raid was over, and Mavis and Isobel began calling up the aircraft. One by one the planes landed. There were anxious moments when one aircraft had to do an emergency landing because its undercarriage was damaged, and another limped in on only two engines. As always, the fire crews stood ready and raced towards the aircraft as it slewed off the runway and on to the grass. There was another crisis when two planes wanted to come in at the same time because they were dangerously low on fuel and were given permission to land, one immediately after the other.

Kate felt the sweat prickle the back of her neck and marvelled at her two friends for their composed efficiency and the way they kept their voices calm and professional when giving directions to the aircrew. Long gone were any criticisms that Mavis was too excitable. Now, she nursed down a lame aircraft, soothed the momentary panic of a young pilot on his first op and juggled expertly with the extra aircraft stacking above the airfield, all demanding runway space at once, it seemed to Kate.

Now, there were only three Suddaby aircraft and four from the visiting East Markham squadron to come in.

Philip was bending down in front of her. ‘I must go across to de-briefing . . .’ he began, and as she made to rise to take him across in the car, he put his hand briefly on hers. ‘You stay here, if you want to,’ he whispered.

‘If you’re sure . . .?’ She looked up into his eyes, but in the dim light, his expression was difficult to read. He gave her hand a swift squeeze, straightened up, turned away and was gone.

Huddled in the corner, she watched and waited, feeling even more alone now that Philip had left.

The radio fell silent, yet Mavis and Isobel were still vigilant. They would not relax until all the aircraft were in, or . . . Kate shuddered, suddenly realizing what her two friends dealt with every day. Waiting and listening for the planes to come back. Sometimes, waiting in vain.

The waiting was becoming unbearable. Quietly, Kate slipped out of the Control Room.

The vehicles were drawing up outside de-briefing and she watched the young airmen walking towards the building, their young faces lined with tension and grey with exhaustion. It was so hard to believe that these were the same men who laughed and drank and made merry in the pub and the dance hall. Then, they looked as if they didn’t have a care in the world, whereas now . . .

Tentatively, she touched the arm of a pilot officer passing close by her. ‘Excuse me, are you from the East Markham squadron?’

His glance took in her WAAF uniform. Guardedly, he nodded.

‘Do you – know Danny Eland?’

‘Yes,’ he said briefly.

‘Is – is he safe?’