Джеффри Арчер - Cat O'Nine Tales

When Sue left at the end of the year Chris once again forgot all about her. He did not follow in her illustrious footsteps and become head boy, although he had a successful — by his standards — if somewhat uneventful year. He played for the school’s second eleven cricket team, came fifth in the cross-country match against Grimsby Grammar, and did well enough in his final exams for them to be unworthy of mention either way.

No sooner had Chris left school than he received a letter from the Ministry of Defence, instructing him to report to his local recruiting office to sign up for a spell of National Service — a two-year compulsory period for all boys at the age of eighteen, when they had to serve in the armed forces. Chris’s only choice in the matter was between the Army, the Royal Navy or the Royal Air Force.

He selected the RAF, and even spent a fleeting moment wondering what it might be like to be a jet pilot. Once Chris had passed his medical and filled in all the necessary forms at the local recruiting office, the duty sergeant handed him a rail pass to somewhere called Mablethorpe; he was to report to the guardhouse by eight o’clock on the first of the month.

Chris spent the next twelve weeks being put through basic training, along with a hundred and twenty other raw recruits. He quickly discovered that only one applicant in a thousand was selected to be a pilot. Chris was not one in a thousand. At the end of the twelve weeks he was given the choice of working in the canteen, the officers’ mess, the quartermaster’s stores or flight operations. He opted for flight operations, and was allocated a job in the stores.

It was when he reported for duty the following Monday that he once again met up with Sue, or to be more accurate Corporal Sue Smart. She was inevitably standing at the head of the line; this time giving out job instructions. Chris didn’t immediately recognize her, dressed in her smart blue uniform with her hair almost hidden under a cap. In any case, he was admiring her shapely legs when she said, ‘Haskins, report to the quartermaster’s stores.’ Chris raised his head. It was that voice he could never forget.

‘Sue?’ he ventured tentatively. Corporal Smart looked up from her clipboard and glared at the recruit who dared to address her by her first name. She recognized the face, but couldn’t place him.

‘Chris Haskins,’ he volunteered.

‘Ah, yes, Haskins,’ she said, and hesitated before adding, ‘report to Sergeant Travis in the stores, and he’ll brief you on your duties.’

‘Yes, Corp,’ Chris replied and quickly disappeared off in the direction of the quartermaster’s stores. As he walked away, Chris didn’t notice that Sue was taking a second look.

Chris didn’t come across Corporal Smart again until his first weekend leave. He spotted her sitting at the other end of a railway carriage on the journey back to Cleethorpes. He made no attempt to join her, even pretending not to see her. However, he did find himself looking up from time to time, admiring her slim figure — he didn’t remember her being as pretty as that.

When the train pulled into Cleethorpes station, Chris spotted his mother chatting to another woman. He knew immediately who she must be — the same red hair, the same trim figure, the same...

‘Hello, Chris,’ Mrs Smart greeted him as he joined his mother on the platform. ‘Was Sue on the train with you?’

‘I didn’t notice,’ said Chris, as Sue walked up to join them.

‘I expect you see a lot of each other now you’re based at the same camp,’ suggested Chris’s mother.

‘No, not really,’ said Sue, trying to sound disinterested.

‘Well, we’d better be off,’ said Mrs Haskins. ‘I have to give Chris and his dad dinner before they go off to watch the football,’ she explained.

‘Do you remember him?’ asked Mrs Smart as Chris and his mother walked along the platform towards the exit.

‘Snotty Haskins?’ Sue hesitated. ‘Can’t say I do.’

‘Oh, you like him that much, do you?’ said Sue’s mother with a smile.

When Chris boarded the train that Sunday evening, Sue was already sitting in her place at the end of the carriage. Chris was about to walk straight past her and find a seat in the next carriage, when he heard her say, ‘Hi, Chris, did you have a nice weekend?’

‘Not bad, Corp,’ said Chris, stopping to look down at her. ‘Grimsby beat Lincoln three — one, and I’d forgotten how good the fish and chips are in Cleethorpes compared to camp.’

Sue smiled. ‘Why don’t you join me?’ she said, patting the seat beside her. ‘And I think it will be all right to call me Sue when we’re not in barracks.’

On the journey back to Mablethorpe, Sue did most of the talking, partly because Chris was so smitten with her — could this be the same skinny little girl who had handed out the milk each morning? — and partly because he realized the bubble would burst the moment they set foot back in camp. Non-commissioned officers just don’t fraternize with the ranks.

The two of them parted at the camp gates and went their separate ways. Chris walked back to the barracks, while Sue headed off for the NCO quarters. When Chris strolled into his Nissen hut to join his fellow conscripts, one of them was bragging about the WRAF he’d had it off with. He even went into graphic detail, describing what RAF knickers look like. ‘A dark shade of blue held up by thick elastic,’ he assured the mesmerized onlookers. Chris lay on his bed and stopped listening to the unlikely tale, as his thoughts returned to Sue. He wondered how long it would be before he saw her again.

Not as long as he feared because when Chris went to the canteen for lunch the following day he spotted Sue sitting in the corner with a group of girls from the ops room. He wanted to stroll across to her table and, like David Niven, casually ask her out on a date. There was a Doris Day film showing at the Odeon that he thought she might enjoy, but he’d sooner have walked across a minefield than interrupt her while his mates were watching.

Chris selected his lunch from the counter — a bowl of vegetable soup, sausage and chips, and custard pie. He carried his tray across to a table on the other side of the room and joined a group of his fellow conscripts. He was tucking into the custard pie, while discussing Grimsby’s chances against Blackpool, when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He looked round to see Sue smiling down at him. Everyone else at the table stopped talking. Chris turned a bright shade of red.

‘Doing anything on Saturday night?’ Sue asked. The red deepened to crimson as he shook his head. ‘I was thinking of going to see Calamity Jane.’ She paused. ‘Care to join me?’ Chris nodded. ‘Why don’t we meet outside the camp gates at six?’ Another nod. Sue smiled. ‘See you then.’ Chris turned back to find his friends staring at him in awe.

Chris didn’t remember much about the film because he spent most of his time trying to summon up enough courage to put his arm round Sue’s shoulder. He didn’t even manage it when Howard Keel kissed Doris Day. However, after they left the cinema and walked back towards the waiting bus, Sue took his hand.

‘What are you going to do once you’ve finished your National Service?’ Sue asked as the last bus took them back to camp.

‘Join my dad on the buses, I suppose,’ said Chris. ‘How about you?’

‘Once I’ve served three years, I have to decide if I want to become an officer, and make the RAF my career.’

‘I hope you come back and work in Cleethorpes,’ Chris blurted out.

Chris and Sue Haskins were married a year later in St Aidan’s parish church.

After the wedding, the bride and groom set off for Newhaven in a hired car, intending to spend their honeymoon on the south coast of Portugal. After only a few days on the Algarve, they ran out of money. Chris drove them back to Cleethorpes, but vowed that they would return to Albufeira just as soon as he could afford it.