Three Lancasters Grace The Skies Over Lincoln
A pretty, young WAAF drives the crew out to where their Lancaster Bomber awaits. Before she set off she checked her reflection in her silver compact. Her blonde hair is neatly tucked into a roll at the nape of her neck, the ruby red has faded a little on her plump lips, but she'll do. Some of the boys engage in banter, and laughter flows, slicing through the cool night air. 'Come on, Joan, come out with me some time,' a young airman calls out, almost pleading. He mustn't be bothered about the rumors, but the boys beside him exchange nervous glances. 'Everyone who takes her out gets the chop,' one of them whispers. Joan laughs it off. She never goes out with any of them - not anymore. Some are silent, looking ahead to where their Lancaster waits on the dispersal pan, her dark form looming out, swathed in moonlight. This shuttle run might be their last but Joan is the consummate actress, disguising apprehension beneath a cloak of frivolity while she paints o