December 24, 1944
Royal Air Force Base, Oban Scotland

This Christmas feels different.

It feels like the beginning of the end.  After five bloody years, peace, or some variation of it, appears faintly on the horizon. So the mood is especially festive on this Christmas Eve, as Margaret Casey makes her way through the mess to find a spare seat for dinner. She’s been stationed here in Oban for some time, and the crew from a newly arrived squadron is filling up the rooms and the mess. But this is a resort, so it’s not so much a mess, as a lavish dining room.

Oban hugs the northwestern shores of Scotland and before the war, it was a popular resort town. The postcard-pretty waterfront is lined with with pastel coloured inns and hotels, with views across Oban Bay towards the Island of Kerrera, and the expansive Atlantic beyond.

Families and honeymooners come here to splash in the chilly waves and sun themselves on the sandy beaches. But when war came, Oban was converted from holiday town to an RAF military base. The holiday makers are long gone, and the hotels have been converted into a sort of swish barracks.

It’s especially crowded tonight because this is the night that, in keeping with one of the RAF’s time-honoured traditions, officers serve the Christmas meal to the enlisted men and women. No one wants to miss out on some friendly ribbing and a chance to be waited on by their superiors.

Margaret looks around and sees a free seat at a table. “Is anyone sitting here?” She asks the young corporal and sole occupant of the table. He looks up at her and flashes a thin smile. “No, go ahead.”

She looks at him sternly. “Listen, you should be in full dress. You’re out of uniform – no tie, and your shirt is rumpled. That’s disrespectful.” As she speaks, her Welsh accent becomes more pronounced.

The young man waits to make sure she has nothing more to say, then he explains, “Well, this is the best I can do. I lost everything in the fire last night.”

Margaret is quiet for a minute, then says, “Oh, yes, I heard about the fire in the barracks. Well, I guess that’s alright then.” An officer arrives with her meal tray – a welcome distraction from the awkward silence that has ensued. She pushes her glass of beer towards him. “I don’t like beer much, do you want mine?” He brightens up. “Sure, thanks. I’m Norm by the way. I just came in with 143 squadron.” She nods. “I’m Margaret. I’m in charge of the switchboard operators.”

“God help the operators,” thinks Norm. But any further conversation is cut short by the arrival of more diners at the table. Norm excuses himself and makes his way back to his quarters.

In the days following Christmas, the winter chill sets in and life gets back to normal – as much as it can when young men take flight every day and there’s no guarantee they’ll return.

Margaret is sitting with a colleague, having tea during their break. “Margaret, do you have plans for tonight?” Before she realizes where the conversation is going, Margaret replies, “No, no plans.”

“Great!” says the friend, “my boyfriend has the night off, and we want to go out, but his buddy just got here, and doesn’t know anyone. Would you be a dear and come out with us – make it a fourth? It’ll be fun!”

With no excuses coming to mind, Margaret reluctantly agrees.

That evening, the two girls arrive at the mess to meet up with the men.

“Oh my god,” Margaret whispers when she sees her date. Actually, not so much a whisper, but a loud groan. “It’s you.”

Norman chuckles. “Well it’s good to see you again, too, Marg.” Margaret’s friend takes all this as a good sign. “You already know each other, that’s great!” she says enthusiastically. And with that, the two couples head off to the pub.

Margaret decides to make the best of it. She retells the story of their first awkward meeting on Christmas eve, the mood lightens, the conversation comes more easily and at some point in the evening, she thinks to herself, “He’s not bad actually. Pretty good looking too. I could do worse.”

It seems Norm thinks the same thing, and long after the requisite time allotted to a blind date, it becomes something more. They leave their pals at the pub, and slowly walk up to the top of the hill, overlooking bay.

They walk, and talk, and laugh, and share their stories. In the dark chill of the night, he takes her hand as they walk back down the hill together.

It feels like the beginning of something. Something good. Something they will share long after the war is over.