29 December 1940

The telegram message was very short, very clipped, and very much to the heart-stopping point. It also very nearly shattered her completely. Mavis' worst fears as to why she had not seen or heard from her brother over the holidays came true. This year's Christmas had proved gloomy enough as it was, what with the Blitz on and Peter in the thick of it. Now this?

"Deeply regret to inform you that your brother Cpl P Newkirk has been reported missing letter follows."

The letter did indeed follow, as the RAF proved quite efficient in these matters. It was not the way she wished to begin the new year, but since when had she ever been given a choice in anything?

"Dear Miss Newkirk,

It is with extreme regret that I have to inform you that your brother has been reported "missing". The aircraft on which he was an air gunner failed to return to its base on the 22 December 1940 from an operational flight.

This does not necessarily mean that he is killed or wounded. I will communicate with you again immediately I have any further news..."

It was at that point that she simply could not carry on reading. She slipped the letter into the large family Bible she had inherited from her mum and then collapsed onto her bed, giving free hysterical rein to her grief.

She later calmed down and somehow managed to scrape together the strength to inform their father that his eldest child, his only son, had been reported missing in action. Not that it mattered much to him, seeing as how he was already drunk. It did give him a tidy excuse to go back round to the pub, as he could trade on the sad news to garner both sympathy and free drinks.

Her days of misery passed, becoming weeks of misery, which in their turn, became months of misery. By March, she didn't even have time to think about anything as she rushed underground to take shelter in the tube station at Aldgate. This is a big 'un! she realized as she carved herself out a spot amongst the large crowd sheltering there. The night seemed endless as the walls constantly shook and creaked from the many close detonations. She prayed that the station wouldn't take a direct hit as each explosion brought renewed cries and screams of terror from the huddled masses in the shelter.

She must have managed to fall asleep despite the terror of the bombs, for she awoke as the people lying next to her unexpectedly staggered to their feet. She quickly did the same, trying to pull herself together to face what lay above the ground.

She later found that she simply couldn't erase the grisly images from her mind. They remained etched in her consciousness completely against her will. There really had been no avoiding it. She had shouldered her way as politely as she possibly could through the crowd inching up the stairway, desperate for a breath of relatively fresh air. As they emerged dazed and groggy from beneath the ground, they had been forced to pass the burned out hulk of a downed Heinkel 111. As a matter of course, the fire and rescue brigades exhausted their efforts in aiding their own before they got around to disposing of the enemy's casualties. She supposed that it did make sense in a brutal sort of way. She wondered if the German civilians felt the same way about the British airmen unfortunate enough to be downed over their cities. Did they trickle out of their underground railway stations the morning after a raid to find a burned out Wellington or Stirling in front of them? Did the German civilians gawk with the same curious horror around the RAF airmen's naked dead bodies? Did they suck their breath in with surprise as they found themselves unable to drag their gaze from the ghastly, macabre spectacle before them? Did they point and exult over her brother's body the way these ragged, frustrated, angry hordes were exulting over the dead Luftwaffe men?

Tears unexpectedly flooded her eyes at the thought of Peter and she shook her head. Calm y'self! You don't know 'e's dead for sure. But then, you don't know if 'e's alive either. You really don't know anythin' definite! As she stood staring at the twisted, black metal that was once a dangerous German bomber, random questions began popping up unbidden through her mind. Did these men have a family? Did they have a wife, mother or sister who was worried sick over them? Will they get a cable from their Air Ministry, as she had, declaring their men 'missing in action'? Would they receive parcels containing all the worldly goods they left behind, accompanied by heartfelt letters of regret from their mates? Would they ever find out that their men were dead, burned to a crisp inside the crumpled, empty metal cylinder that was all that was left of their plane? She simply could not bring herself to accept the possibility that her brother's fate had been the same as these anonymous Germans. She hoped and prayed to receive the news that he had been taken captive and was at least alive.

She startled when a particularly unpleasant voice screeched directly into her ear. "'ey now! Just what are ya cryin' for missy? Feelin' sorry for these 'ere murderin' sods are ya? They got just what they deserve if ya ask me!"

Shocked beyond words, she turned to stare blankly at the older woman who was the source of the unprovoked tirade. She finally gathered her wits about her enough to reply. "I…my brother…I was just thinking about him. He's…in…the RAF…and he…he's missing…in action…" She suddenly realized that she didn't have to defend herself to anyone and turned around to stride determinedly down what was left of the street. She didn't respond to the woman's calls to come back.

Despite herself, she began to wonder if these disquieting thoughts indeed qualified as disloyal or traitorous. Weren't the unknown Luftwaffe airmen human beings just like her brother? Weren't the German civilians huddled in their underground shelters just as frightened as they had been? It became all so confusing. She took a deep breath and moved on, forcing herself not to think of such things right now. She passed another of the ubiquitous red signs proclaiming "Keep Calm and Carry On!" displayed in a bombed out storefront. This time she turned around and stared at it. It had never had any real meaning for her until now.

She resolved to carry on as best she could, convincing herself that Peter lived still. She refused to be paralyzed by fear, difficult though it was. She knew that her brother wouldn't want that for her. He had sacrificed for her his entire life and it was now her turn to repay the favor. Yes, he lived; she had to keep the faith. As far as she was concerned, until she held the telegram stating otherwise firmly in her hands, he lived. There simply was no other way to look at it.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and raised her head high as she resumed her journey home.