Daffodil Girls by Kitty Dimbleby

Author:Kitty Dimbleby
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780753547908
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

Most wives, and mothers for that matter, would agree there are very few ‘highs’ when the son or husband you love is out in a war zone. If there are, they come in the form of letters home or the longed-for phone call. But even this is fraught with difficulties. Imagine the worst mobile reception you have ever had, and then double it – a call from Afghanistan really is like a call from another world, particularly for those out in the field relying on a satellite phone. I remember Ed calling me once from the desert in Iraq during a sandstorm, sheltering by the side of his WIMIK, the stripped down Land Rover which was his transport and home for weeks at a time. He had leapt at the chance to use the phone and I could barely hear through the howling gale and terrible static – it was good to hear his voice, know he was OK, but so frustrating not being able to communicate properly, especially when I knew this might be my only phone call that fortnight.

Far worse than getting a call when you can hardly hear your loved one, or not getting a call at all, is when you miss one – it is, quite simply, terrible. You know that, miles from home, your beloved has tried to get hold of you and you feel that, by not being there, you have failed them. The guys get thirty free minutes a week to call home (which you can pay to top up) but actually being able to use these minutes can often be a challenge; soldiers sometimes having to queue for ages in camp, or waiting for days out in the field to get their turn and it is unbearable to think of them only getting through to an answer machine.

I would throw what can only be described as a tantrum when I missed a call – it is always a UK-seeming number that flashes up on your mobile but call it back and a recorded voice informs you that ‘Someone serving in the armed forces has tried to call you . . .’ To try and avoid ever hearing that message your phone goes everywhere with you, and I mean everywhere – to the loo, left on loud in meetings, placed on the bar when out with friends. I remember once leaving it on my desk while I went downstairs for a coffee while working at the Mail on Sunday – returning to the missed call, I burst into tears and my editor (an amazing woman who managed to be a fantastic section editor and a wonderful boss – unusual, believe me) pulled me into her office and let me sob on her shoulder.

Rhiannon’s bosses also completely understood and, despite Rhiannon being relatively new, didn’t mind that her phone would always be switched on and prominently placed on her desk, to try and ensure she wouldn’t miss a call from Huw. When one came,

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